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DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT; 


OR, 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  NEW  YORK  LIFE. 
3.  lUoman's  Story 

OF 

GOSPEL,  TEMPERANCE,  MISSION,  AND  RESCUE  WORK 

"  En  Jin's  Name," 

WITH    BUNDREDS  OF  THRILLING   ANECDOTES   AND   INCIDENTS,   PERSONAL   EX  PERL 

ENCES,    SKETCHES    OF    LIFE    AND    CHARACTER,    HUMOROUS    STORIES, 

TOUCHING  HOME  SCENES,  AND  TALES  OF  TENDER  PATHOS, 

DRAWN  FROM  THE  BRIGHT  AND  SHADY 

SIDES  OF  CITY  LIFE.* 

BY 

Mrs.   HELEX   CAMPBELL. 

WITH  AX  INTRODUCTION 

By   Rev.   LYMAN  ABBOTT.   D.D. 

SUPPLEMENTED    BY    A    JOURNALIST'S    DESCRIPTION  OF   LITTLE  KNOWN   PHASES  OF 

NEW  YORK  LIFE  ;  AND  A  FAMOUS  DETECTIVE'S  THIRTY 

YEARS'  EXPERIENCES  AND  OBSERVATIONS. 

BY 

Col.  THOMAS  W.  KXOX  and  Inspector  THOMAS  BYRXES. 

Illustrate* 

WITH  TWO  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY-TWO   ENGRAVINGS  PROM   PHOTOGRAPHS  TAKEN   PROM    LIFE 

EXPRESSLY   FOR  THIS   WORK,    MOSTLY    BY   PLASH-LIGHT,    AND   REPRODUCED 

IN    EXACT    FACSIMILE    BY    EMINENT    ARTISTS. 


HARTFORD,   COXX. : 
A.   D.   WORTHIXGTOX   &   CO.,   PUBLISHERS. 

1893. 


[All  rights  reserved.] 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1891, 

By  A.  D.  Wokthington  and  Company, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


/T> 


THIS  volume  aims  to  give  scrupulously  exact  descriptions  of 
life  and  scenes  in  the  great  metropolis  under  three  differ- 
ent aspects :  1st,  "As  Seen  by  a  Woman ; "  2d,  "As  Seen  by 
a  Journalist ; "  3d,  "As  Seen  and  Known  by  the  Chief  of  the 
New  York  Detective  Bureau."  It  was  essential  that  each  of 
the  writers  selected  for  this  undertaking  should  possess  a  thor- 
ough practical  knowledge  of  the  subject,  combined  with  ability 
to  describe  what  they  have  seen  and  experienced. 

The  first  division  was  assigned  to  Mrs.  Helen  Campbell, 
whose  life  has  been  spent  in  New  York  city,  and  whose  well- 
known  sympathies  for  the  poor  and  unfortunate,  combined 
with  long  experience  in  city  missionary  work  and  charitable 
enterprises,  peculiarly  fitted  her  for  this  portion  of  the  work. 
Her  interest  in  missions  and  her  labors  among  the  lower  classes 
have  brought  her  face  to  face  with  squalor  and  misery  among 
the  hopelessly  poor,  as  well  as  with  degraded  men  and  women 
in  their  own  homes ;  while  her  ready  sympathy  gained  for  her 
access  to  their  hearts,  and  thus  gave  her  a  practical  insight  into 
their  daily  life  possessed  by  few.  Who  but  a  woman  could 
describe  to  women  the  scenes  of  sin,  sorrow,  and  suffering 
among  this  people  that  have  presented  themselves  to  her  wo- 
manly eye  and  heart  ? 

To  Col.  Thomas  W.  Knox  was  assigned  the  task  of  delineat- 
ing phases  of  city  life  that  a  trained  journalist  of  many  years' 
experience  in  New  York  is  more  familiar  with  than  almost  any 
other  person.     To  the  advantages  of  his  facile  pen  and  quick 

(vii) 


viii  publishers'  preface. 

observation,  born  of  long  newspaper  work,  are  added  those  of 
a  lifetime  spent  in  the  great  city  and  perfect  familiarity  with 
many  features  of  metropolitan  life  which  he  so  well  describes. 

To  Chief  Inspector  Thomas  Byrnes,  the  famous  head  of  the 
New  York  Detective  Bureau, —  the  most  efficient  bureau  of  its 
kind  in  the  world, —  the  public  is  indebted  for  the  faithful  de- 
scriptions of  criminal  life  and  detective  experiences  given  in 
this  volume.  For  thirty  years  he  has  been  connected  with  the 
police  force  of  New  York,  working  his  way  up  from  the  rank 
of  patrolman  to  his  present  high  and  responsible  position.  For 
many  years  he  has  been  constantly  and  prominently  before  the 
public  as  a  detective  of  wonderful  skill  and  unerring  sagacity. 
The  very  nature  of  his  life-work  has  brought  him  into  close 
contact  with  crime,  destitution,  and  vice,  and  has  given  him 
exceptional  opportunities  for  the  study  of  life  among  the  dan- 
gerous classes.  More  than  any  other  man  he  knows  the  meth- 
ods and  characteristics  of  "crooks"  of  high  and  low  degree, 
and  possesses  a  thorough  knowledge  of  their  haunts. 

When  the  manuscripts  of  these  joint  authors  were  placed  in 
the  publishers'  hands,  they  for  the  first  time  realized  the  great 
importance  of  the  work  they  had  undertaken.  In  genuine 
interest  and  graphic  description  it  exceeded  anything  they  had 
hoped  for,  and  their  estimate  of  its  worth  grew  with  closer  ex- 
amination. The  original  plan  of  the  book  included  but  a  few 
full-page  illustrations ;  but  the  sterling  character  of  the  work  as 
revealed  by  reading  the  manuscript, —  its  authenticity,  incontro- 
vertible facts,  and  startling  revelations, — led  the  publishers  to 
believe  that  it  ought  to  be  illustrated  with  more  than  common 
fullness  and  in  the  most  truthful  and  realistic  manner.  But 
how  could  this  be  accomplished  % 

The  old  method  of  employing  artists  of  quick  talent  to  seize 
the  general  outline  of  a  scene,  and  by  a  few  rapid  strokes  of  a 
pencil  preserve  the  general  idea,  until,  in  the  studio,  leisure  was 
found  to  enlarge  the  hasty  sketch  and  reproduce  the  details 
from  memory,  was  open  to  serious  objection ;  for  in  this  way 
everything  is  left  to  the  artist,  whose  generally  exuberant  and 
sometimes  distorted  imagination  has  full  swing,  and  in  addition 


publishers'  prefa*  i:.  ix 

the  method  is  exceedingly  faulty  in  having  to  rely  upon  one  of 
tin1  most  treacherous  of  human  faculties— the  memory.  Such 
pictures  can  only  approximate  to  the  reality:  they  may  be  — 
and  often  are  —  very  wide  of  the  truth.  The  publishers  were 
satisfied  that  illustrations  produced  in  this  way  could  not  show 
the  fidelity  to  nature  that  the  text  demanded.  Eere  the 
modern  camera  came  to  their  aid,  and  it  alone  is  the  basis  for 
every  illustration  in  this  volume.  In  deciding  to  adopt  the 
camera  as  a  means  to  an  end,  they  little  dreamed  of  the  labor, 
time,  and  expense  which  the  undertaking  involved. 

Recent  developments  in  photography  have  rendered  it  pos- 
sible to  catch  instantaneously  all  the  details  of  a  scene  with  the 
utmost  fidelity.  The  publishers  and  their  photographer  ex- 
plored the  city  together  for  months,  by  day  and  by  night, 
seeking  for  living  material  on  the  streets,  up  narrow  alleys 
and  in  tenement  houses,  in  missions  and  charitable  institutions, 
in  low  lodging-houses  and  cellars,  in  underground  resorts  and 
stale-beer  dives,  in  haunts  of  criminals  and  training-schools  of 
crime,  and  in  nooks  and  corners  known  only  to  the  police  and 
rarely  visited  by  any  one  else.  These  two  hundred  and  fifty 
remarkable  pictures  were  selected  from  upwards  of  a  thousand 
photographs  taken  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night.  Many  of 
them  were  taken  at  moments  when  the  people  portrayed  would 
rather  have  been  anywhere  else  than  before  the  lens'  eye. 
By  far  the  greater  part  of  them  were  made  by  flash-light, 
without  the  aid  of  which  much  of  the  life  herein  shown  so 
truthfully  could  not  have  been  presented  at  all.  Some  of 
them  were  made  under  circumstances  of  great  difficulty, 
in  dimly-lighted  holes  and  in  underground  places,  literally  "in 
darkest  New  York,"  where  the  light  of  day  never  penetrates. 
Not  a  few  were  made  long  after  midnight,  for  there  are 
phases  of  city  life  that  cannot  be  seen  at  any  other  time.  As  a 
whole  these  illustrations  depict  many  and  varied  scenes  of 
every -day  life  and  all-night  life  which  go  to  make  the  sum  of 
New  York's  daily  history. 

The  dark  side  of  life  is  presented  without  any  attempt  to 
tone  it  down,  and  foul  places  are  shown  just  as  they  exist.    Any 


X  publishers'  preface. 

one  who  undertakes  to  "  see  life "  in  the  haunts  of  vice  and 
crime  in  New  York,  especially  by  night,  takes  his  life  in  his 
own  hand,  and  courts  danger  in  many  forms.  Criminals  are  a 
suspicious  class.  The  appearance  of  a  camera  in  their  midst  at 
once  suggests  to  them  the  Rogues'  Gallery,  and  recalls  to  their 
mind  crimes  knoAvn  only  to  themselves.  It  is  not  pleasant,  in 
underground  dens,  where  hardened  criminals  and  the  vilest  out- 
casts hide  from  the  light  of  day,  to  be  mistaken  for  detectives 
in  search  of  their  prey ;  nor  is  it  pleasant  to  spend  day  after 
day  in  vermin-infested  tenements  and  oozy  cellars  waiting  for 
opportunities  to  portray  some  particularly  desired  scene.  It  is 
dangerous  to  breathe  for  hours  at  a  time  an  atmosphere  poisoned 
with  nauseating  effluvia ;  it  is  hazardous  to  be  surrounded  in 
narrow  alleys  by  a  crowd  of  toughs  who  believe  that  bricks 
and  other  missiles  were  specially  designed  for  the  benefit  of 
strangers.  There  are  hundreds  of  places  in  New  York  where 
even  the  air  of  respectability  is  an  element  of  personal  danger. 

In  midnight  expeditions  it  was  often  necessary  to  creep 
stealthily  into  a  locality  where  it  was  known  that  night  life  at 
its  worst  existed.  The  camera  was  quickly  and  silently  ad- 
justed in  the  dark,  and  the  sudden  and  blinding  flash  of  the 
magnesium  light  was  generally  the  first  knowledge  the  subject 
had  of  the  presence  of  photographers  ;  but  the  knowledge  came 
too  late  to  prevent  the  lightning  work  of  the  camera,  which  in 
the  two-hundredth  part  of  a  second  had  faithfully  fixed  the 
scene  on  the  sensitive  plate.  Surprise  and  wonder  were  often 
followed  by  oaths  and  threats  that  were  of  no  avail,  for  the 
camera  had  done  its  work. 

In  some  of  these  pictures  will  be  seen  —  in  their  own  haunts 
and  amid  their  own  surroundings  —  lineaments  of  old  and  well- 
known  criminals,  both  men  and  women,  together  with  those  of 
younger  years  just  entering  upon  a  life  of  crime  and  degrada- 
tion, and  of  some  whose  footsteps  have  barely  touched  the 
threshold.  In  no  instance  have  artists  been  allowed  to  exercise 
their  imagination  by  drawing  pictures  of  impossible  scenes,  or 
exaggerating  what  is  already  bad  enough.  The  fact  that  every 
illustration  in  this  volume  is  from  a  photograph  made  from  life, 


PUBLISHERS     PREFACE.  XI 

and   that  the  greatest  care  has  been  taken  to  present  tl. 
photographs  in  fac-simile,  even  to  the  preservation  of  the  por- 
traits, are  features  that  will  commend  themselves  to  all. 

It  is  said  that  figures  do  not  lie.  Neither  does  the  camera. 
In  looking  on  these  pages  the  reader  is  brought  face  to  face 
with  real  life  as  it  is  in  Xew  York;  not  AS  IT  WAS.  but  AS 
IT  IS  TO-DAY.  Exactly  as  the  reader  sees  these  picttu 
just  so  were  the  scenes  presented  to  the  camera's  merciless  and 
unfailing  eye  at  the  moment  when  the  action  depicted  took 
place.  Nothing  is  lacking  but  the  actual  movement  of  the  per- 
sons represented. 

Here,  then,  are  presented  to  the  reader  faithful  pictorial 
representations  of  street  life  in  Xew  York  by  day  and  by  night ; 
scenes  in  various  well-known  Christian  missions  in  tough  dis- 
tricts, their  audiences,  services,  and  so  forth ;  gospel  work  by 
day  and  by  night  by  mission-workers  and  rescue-bands  in  the 
vilest  slums ;  scenes  of  hospital  life  and  in  charitable  institu- 
tions ;  in  cheap  lodging  houses  and  cellars ;  in  back  streets  and 
alleys ;  in  dens  of  infamy  and  crime,  where  the  dangerous 
classes  congregate  ;  in  the  homes  of  the  poor ;  in  wretched  tene- 
ment districts,  where  the  horror  of  the  life  that  is  lived  by 
human  beings  herded  together  by  thousands  is  well-nigh  in- 
credible ;  in  newsboys'  lodging  houses ;  in  the  police,  detective, 
and  fire  departments ;  in  opium-joints  and  among  the  denizens 
of  Chinatown ;  among  the  Italians  of  Mulberry  Street,  and 
along  its  famous  "  Bend,"  —  these  and  many  other  topics  are 
here  presented  in  the  best  pictorial  manner,  and  always  with 
strict  regard  to  truth. 

The  publishers  return  their  sincere  thanks  to  all  who  have 
in  any  way  helped  them  in  this  arduous  undertaking.  Their 
grateful  acknowledgments  are  due  to  the  Board  of  Police  Com- 
missioners, and  to  Chief  Inspector  Thomas  Byrnes,  without 
whose  aid  many  rare  photographs  could  not  have  been  made  ; 
to  the  captains  of  various  police  precincts,  who  on  numerous 
occasions  detailed  special  detectives  to  pilot  and  accompany  the 
photographers  to  places  known  only  to  the  police  ;  to  the  offi- 
cers of  the  Children's  Aid  Society,  and  of  the  Society  for  the 


xii  publishers'  preface. 

Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Children ;  to  the  superintendents  of 
the  Florence  Night  Mission,  the  Water  Street  Mission,  and  the 
Cremorne  Mission ;  to  Sister  Irene,  of  the  New  York  Found- 
ling Asylum ;  to  the  president  of  the  Board  of  Public  Chari- 
ties and  Correction,  and  to  the  Board  of  Fire  Commissioners. 
Unfailing  courtesies  were  extended  on  every  hand,  and  made  it 
possible  to  secure  new  and  desirable  material  that  has  never 
hitherto  been  presented. 

The  publishers'  thanks  are  especially  due  to  Mr.  O.  G. 
Mason  (at  present  and  for  the  past  twenty-five  years  official 
photographer  at  Bellevue  Hospital),  to  whose  rare  skill  they 
are  indebted  for  many  fine  photographs  made  expressly  for 
this  volume.  In  photographing  difficult  scenes,  Mr.  Mason's 
skill  could  be  relied  upon  implicitly.  Nearly  all  of  the  photo- 
graphs from  which  the  full-page  engravings  were  made  were 
taken  by  flash-light  by  him,  as  well  as  many  of  those  for  the 
smaller  illustrations.  Always  ready  for  emergencies,  possess- 
ing ability  and  facilities  to  instantly  meet  them,  he  was  in 
every  way  the  right  man  in  the  right  place.  Mr.  E.  War- 
rin,  Jr.,  Mr.  Frederick  Yilmar,  and  Mr.  Jacob  A.  Ens,  also 
placed  at  their  disposal  large  collections  of  photographs  from 
which  very  interesting  selections  have  been  made. 

The  whole  work  has  passed  under  the  editorial  supervision 
of  Mr.  E.  E.  Treffry,  of  New  York,  and  the  publishers  are 
indebted  to  his  experience  for  many  valuable  suggestions. 


LIST  "ILLUSTRATIONS 


--;     1 1   j  -  j  af«   ;  ■- 


from  Special  ipbotocjrapbs  taken  from  Uife  ejpresslg  for  tbis  lUork. 
Drawn  in  facsimile  t>g  ffrcoericR  Blelman,  XUm.  X.  Sbepparo, 
JEomuno  1b.  Garrett,  1R.  £.  Spcrrs,  ano  otber  eminent  artists. 


3 
4 
5 
6 

7 

8 

9 

10 

11 

12 

13 

14 


16 
16 


PORTRAIT  OF  MRS.  HELEN  CAMPBELL.  Engraved 
on  Steel  from  a  Photograph  taken  expressly  for 
this  work,  ......      Frontispiece 

ILLUSTRxlTED  TITLE  PAGE,  (full  page.)         To  face  Frontispiece 


Ornamental  Heading  to  Publisher's  Preface, 

Ornamental  Heading  to  List  of  Illustrations, 

Ornamental  Heading  to  Table  of  Contents, 

Ornamental  Heading  to  Introduction, 

Introductory  Illustration  to  Part  I, 

Ornamental  Heading  to  Chapter  I, 

The  Water  Street  Mission, 

TnE  Platform  facing  the  Audience  in  the  Water  Street 
Mission  Room,      ....... 

"All  my  Drlnks  3  Cents." — An  Every-day  Scene  near  the 
Water  Street  Mission,  ..... 

Tablet  to  the  Memory  of  Jerry  McAuley  on  the  Wall  of 
the  Water  Street  Mission  Room,     .  .  ... 

COFFEE  NIGHT  AT  THE  OLD  WATER  STREET  MIS- 
SION.—A  WEEKLY  FEAST  FOR  TRAMPS,  OUTCASTS, 
AND  BUMS,      (ffull  page.)      .  .  .  To  face 

Entrance  to  a  Tenement-House  and  Alley. —  The  door  at 
the  left  leads  directly  lnto  a  tenement.  The  arch- 
way AT  THE  RIGHT  IS  A  DARK  PASSAGEWAY  LEADING  TO 
FILTHY   YARDS   AND   TENEMENTS   IN   THE   REAR, 

A  Typical  Tenement-House  Backyard, 

A  Tenement-House  on  Hamilton  Street  known  as  "Tile 
Ship." — 1,  Narrow  Entrance  to  the  Rear  leading  to 
the  Garret  Rooms,        ...... 

(13) 


PAGE. 

7 
13 
21 
37 
47 
49 
52 

59 


si 


87 


90 
92 


94 


14 


LIST    OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


17  A  Room  and  its   Occupant    as   found    in  the  Garret  op 

"The  Ship,"        .......  96 

18  Out  of  Work.     A  'Longshoreman's  Family  and  Home,        .  98 

19  An  Everyday  Scene  in  a  Tenement-House  Alley,    .            .  101 

20  Sick  and  Destitute.    A  Group  as  found  in  a  Cherry  Street 

Tenement,            .......  103 

21  A  Morning  Wash  at  the  Backyard  Hydrant,           .           .  104 

22  In  a  Tenement-House  Backyard  in  Mulberry  Street,        .  105 

23  A  Ragpicker's  Cellar  ln  an  Alley  off  Baxter  Street,      .  107 

24  A  Tenement-House  Backyard,  looking  through  the  Hall 

into  the  Street,            .            .            .            .            .            .  109 

25  THEIR    ONLY     BED.— SUPPERLESS     AND    HOMELESS 

STREET    BOYS     SLEEPING     OUT    AT    NIGHT.  —  A 

NIGHT  SCENE  IN  AN  ALLEY,     (ffull  page.)      To  face  112 

26  Getting  Points  from  the  Last  Edition,          .           .           .  115 

27  "Ext-r-a-h  'Dishun,"          ......  118 

28  The    Schoolroom    and    General   Reception-Room    ln    the 

Newsboys'  Lodging-House,      .....  121 

29  Boys  Applying  for  a  Night's  Lodging,             .            .            .  123 

30  WAIFS  AND   STRAYS   OF   A  GREAT  CITY.— A  GROUP 

OF    HOMELESS     NEW    YORK    NEWSBOYS    PHOTO- 
GRAPHED FROM  LIFE.       (# ull  page.)      •             To  face  124 

31  The  Washroom    ln    the    Newsboys'  Lodging-House    just 

before  Supper  Time,     ......  127 

32  In  one  of  the  Dormitories  ln  the  Newsboys'  Lodging-House,  129 

33  The  Gymnasium  in  the  Newsboys'  Lodging-House,    .            .  132 

34  An  Evening  Game  of  Dominoes  ln  the  Newsboys'  Lodging- 

House,        ........  134 

35  Old  Women  Waiting  at  the  Dining-Room  Door  for  Scraps 

from  the  Newsboys'  Table,    .....  136 

36  In  the  Crippled  Boys'  Brush  ShOp,       .  .  .  .138 

37  Tired  Out.    A  Factory  Girl's  Room  ln  a  Tenement-House,  142 

38  The  Little  Coal-Shovelers,        .  .  .  .  .146 

39  Making  Artificial  Flowers  at  Twelve  Cents  a  Gross,     .  147 

40  A  Group  of  Street  Boys,  as  found  on  Doyers  Street,      .  151 

41  A  Group  of  Bootblacks,    .  .  .  .  .  .152 

42  A  Sleeping  Street  Boy,     ......  154 

43  HOMELESS  AND  FRIENDLESS,     (ffull  page.)           To  face  154 

44  Gutter  Children,    .......  158 

45  A  Gang  of  Dock  Rats  Basking  in  the  Sunshine,      .           .  160 

46  Street  Boys  Sleeping  on  the  Docks,   .  .  .  .163 

47  A  Dock  Rat's  Day  Nap  after  an  All-Night  Tour,             .  164 

48  A  Favorite  Pastime  for  Dock  Rats,     ....  165 

49  Patrick    Lacey,    as   found,   Age    10:   Face    cut,    bruised, 

and  swollen   by  beatings  from  drunken  parents,         .  175 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS.  15 

50  Patrick  Kieley,  as  found  half-starved,  Age  11:  Pack  cur 

AND   BODY   BRUISED   BY    IMll  MAN    PARENTS,         .  .  .177 

51  John  and  Willie  D ,  two  Boy  Tramps,  Brothers,  as 

they  appeared  when  arrested,        .  .  .  .178 

52  Michael    Nevins,    as    found,    Age   10:    Face   bruised   and 

swollen  by  constant  beating,  .  .  .  .180 

53  Nellie  Brady,  as  found,  Age  7,             ....  183 

54  Nellie  Brady,  after  a  day  in  the  Society's  care.    Never 

claimed,     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .184 

55  Entrance  to  the  Cremorne  Mission,     .  .  .  .1st; 

56  The  Reading  Desk  in  the  Cremorne  Mission  Room,             .  188 

57  Drinking  Fountain  Erected  to  the  Memory  of  Jerry  Mc- 

auley  near  the  cltemorne  mission,            .           .           .  189 

58  Bronze  Tablet  to  the  Memory  of  Jerry  McAuley  on  the 

Wall  of  the  Cremorne  Mission  Room,        .  .  .193 

59  A  Tenement-House  Backyard  ln  the  Italian  Quarter,     .  197 

60  Italian  Garbage  Women  on  Mulberry   Street,        .            .  200 

61  Station-House  Prison  Cells,       .....  206 

62  Homeless  Boys  Sleeping  in  a  Coal  Cellar,    .            .            .  214 

63  A  Familiar  Scene  in  Water  Street,     ....  226 

64  The  Florence  Night  Mission  Building,           .           .           .  228 

65  Midnight  Lunch  for  Street  Girls  after  Evening  Service 

at  the  Florence  Night  Mission,       ....  229 

66  AN    UNDERGROUND    STALE -BEER    DIVE    LATE    AT 

NIGHT  IN  MULBERRY    STREET    BEND,  (ffull   fl>aCJC) 

Toface  230 

67  An  Every-day  and  Every-night  Scene  ln  a  Stale-Beer  Dive,  233 

68  A  Stale-Beer  DrvE  on  Mulberry  Street  by  Day,   .            .  235 

69  TnE  Girls'  Industrial  Room  at  the  Florence  Night  Mission,  240 

70  GOSPEL  WORK  IN  THE  SLUMS.— MIDNIGHT  SERVICE 

OF  A  MISSION  RESCUE  BAND  IN  AN  UNDERGROUND 

DIVE  IN  MULBERRY  STREET,     (tfull  pacje.)      Toface  242 

71  Doyers  Street,  known  locally  as  "  Shinbone  Alley,"       .  252 

72  Finishing  Boys' Pants  at  Ten  Cents  a  Dozen  Pairs,            .  261 

73  A  Blend  Tailoress  and  Her  Family,     ....  264 

74  Under  the  Shadow  of  TnE  Great  Bridge,      .            .            .  271 

75  In  a  Poor  Sewing  Woman's  Home,         ....  275 

76  A  Night  Scrub  Woman's  Home,  .  .  .  .  .277 

77  The  Ambulance  Room  at  Bellevue  Hospital.     Answering 

a  "Hurry"  Call, 

78  A  Bellevue  Hospital  Nurse,      .....  284 

79  A    CRITICAL    CASE. —  A     BED-SIDE      CONSULTATION 

FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  STUDENTS  AND  NURSES  IN 

BELLEVUE  HOSPITAL,    (jfull  pacje.)         .             To  face  289 

80  A  Surgical  Operation  at  Bellevue  Hospital,           .            .  291 


16 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


81  In  one  of  the  Female  Wards  at  Bellevue  Hospital,        .  293 

82  In  the  Children's  Ward  at  Bellevue  Hospital,      .            .  295 

83  Discharged.     A  Patient  Receiving  her  Bundle  of  Clothes 

in  the  Old  Clothes  Room  at  Bellevue  Hospital,          .  297 

84  AN  EVERY-DAY    SCENE   IN  THE   MORGUE.— IDENTI- 

FYING THE  UNKNOWN  DEAD.     (# uli  page.)     To  face  301 

85  The  "Cage,"  or  Prisoners'  Ward  at  Bellevue  Hospital,  302 

86  In  the  Propagating  Room,           .....  307 

87  The  View  from  the  Schoolroom,          ....  309 

88  Winners  of  the   Prize,     .  .  .  .  .  .311 

89  Italian  Mother  and  her  Sick  Child  at  the  Dispensary,    .  321 

90  SATURDAY  MORNING  IN  THE  GREAT  EASTERN  FREE 

DISPENSARY.— RELIEVING  DISTRESS  AMONG  THE 

SICK  POOR,     (ffull  fl>a0C)     ....  To  face  322 

91  In  the  Surgeon's  Room,     ......  326 

92  A  Hopeless  C\se.    Examining  a  Patient's  Lungs  with  the 

Stethoscope,        .......  327 

93  A  Hebrew  Mother  and  her  Sick  Baby,          .            .            .  328 

94  The  Doctor  Looking  for  Vaccination  Scars,  .            .            .  329 

95  The  Tombs, 336 

96  The  Gallows  Yard  in  the  Tombs,         ....  338 

97  Prison  Cells  for  Females  in  the  Tombs,        .           .            .  340 

98  Murderers'   Row   ln   the   Tombs,           ....  344 

99  Discharged  Convicts  Making  Brooms,   ....  354 

100  An  East  River  Dock,         ......  357 

101  In  the  Cell.    Blackwell's  Island  Penitentiary,     .            .  365 

102  Prisoners'  Cells  ln  the  Penitentiary,  Blackwell's  Island. 

(The  dark  cells  are  on  the  lower  floor),          .            .  367 

103  husbandless  mothers  and   fatherless   children   ln  the 

Charity  Hospital,  Blackwell's  Island,      .            .            .  370 

104  Insane  Patients  in  the  Brush  Shop,  Blackwell's  Island,  .  373 

105  Insane  Patients  in  the  Basket  Shop,  Blackwell's  Island,  375 

106  Lunatics'  Chariot,  drawn  by  Lunatics  chained  together,    .  377 

107  The  Convicts'  Lockstep,     ......  379 

108  The  Mother's  Last  Kiss,  ......  382 

109  Sister  Irene's  Basket,       ......  383 

110  Foster  Mothers,      .......  385 

111  The  Children's  Clothes  Room,   .....  386 

112  One  of  the  Nursery  Wards,       ....".  387 

113  The  Playroom,         .......  389 

114  The  Kindergarten,            .....            .  390 

115  Foundlings'  Bank  at  Entrance  to  Maln  Staircase,             .  392 

116  In  the  Children's  Dormitory  at  Sister  Irene's,       .            .  393 

117  Tile  Little  Waif's  Evening  Prayer,     ....  394 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTK.\TI«i\x. 


118 

119 
120 
121 
122 
123 
124 
135 
126 
127 
128 
129 
130 
131 

132 
133 

134 

135 
136 

13T 


138 
139 

140 
141 
142 
143 
144 
14.") 
146 

147 
148 

149 
150 


"NOW  I  LAY  ME  DOWN  To  BLEEP."— BEDTIME  IN  THE 
HOMELESS  LITTLE  GIRLS'  DORMITORY  AT  THE  FIVE 
POINTS  HOUSE  OF  INDUSTRY,    (full  page.)      Tofaa 

Curbstone  Gossip  in  Mulberry  Street, 

Sidewalk  Pease  Seller,  Mulberry  Street,   . 

Curbstone  Beaks  Seller,  Mulberry  Street, 

Push-Cart  Brigade  in  the  Great  Bend,  Mulberry  Street 

Sidewalk  Bread  Seller,  Mulberry  Street,  . 

Curbstone  Vegetable  Vender,  Mulberry  Street,   . 

Italian  Ragpickers'  Settlement,  Mulberry  Street, 

Sidewalk  Vegetable  Stands,  Mulberry  Street, 

Sidewalk  Turnip  Seller,  Mulberry  Street, 

Italian  Ragpicker  Mending  his  Bags,  Mulberry  Street, 

A  Cluster  of  Shanties  ln  Shantytown, 

Backyard  of  a  Shanty  in  Shantytown, 

A  Thrifty  German's  Shanty   ln    Shantytown.      Ten    Cows 

KEPT   IN   A    LOW   SHED   ON   THE   PREMISES, 

A  Typical    '  Establishment  "  in  Shantytown, 

A  Police  Station-House  Lodging-Room, 

Midnight    in    the    Women's    Lodging-Room    at    a    Police 

Station-House,    ..... 
"Sitters"  ln   the  Women's   Lodges g-Room   at   the  Police 

Station-House,    ...... 

Entrance  to  a  Shed  Lodglng-House  in  the  Rear  of  Mul 

berry  Street,      ...... 

EARLY    MORXIXG    IX    A    SHED    LODGIXG-IIOUSE    IX 

THE    REAR     OF    MULBERRY     STREET.— GETTIXG 

READY    FOR     AXOTHER    DAY    OF    IDLEXESS    OR 

CRIME,     (ffull  fl>agc.)    ....  Tofaee 

A  Corner  ln  a  Lodging-Shed  by  Day,  . 
A  "  Reserved  "  Room  in  a  Lodging-Shed, 
Tin:  Schoolship  St.  Mary's, 

Boys'  Schoolroom  between  Decks  on  the  St.  Mary 
The  Sail-Making  Class  on  the  St.  Mary's.     . 
Learning  to  Splice  Ropes  on  the  St.  Mary's, 
"Up  Aloft."    A  Drill  Scene  on  the  St.  Mary's, 
Ready  for  Sea.     A  Scene  on  the  St.  Mary's, 
Peaceful  Industries  at  the   Sailors'  Snug  Harbor.      Old 

sailors  making  miniature  shirs. 
A  Crippled  Sailor  Weaving  Baskets,  . 
A  One-Armed  Naval  Veteran  with  a  Perfect  Model  of 

the  Flag-Shir  "Hartford,"  made  with  his  Left  Hand, 
A  Contented  Old  Salt,     ...... 

Introductory  Illustration  to  Part  II,  ... 


4--)l 
453 
455 


18 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


151 


152 
153 
154 

155 
156 
157 
158 
159 
160 
161 
162 
163 
164 
165 
166 
167 
168 
169 
170 
171 


172 

173 

174 


175 
176 

177 
178 
179 
180 
181 
182 
183 
184 
185 


PORTRAIT  OF  COL.  THOMAS  W.  KNOX.    Engraved  on 
Steel   from   a   Photograph   taken   expressly   for  this 
work,  ......  Toface 

Ornamental  Heading  to  Openlng  Chapter  of  Part  II 

Exterior  of  a  Bowery  Dime  Museum,  . 

In  a  Bowery  Dime   Museum.     The   lecturer,  his   freak 

and  his  audience, 
In  a  Ragpicker's  Cellar,  Baxter  Street, 
Among  the  Tenements  in  the  Rear  of  Mulberry  I 
A  Typical  Tenement-House  Alley, 
A  Group  as  Found   ln   a   Tenement-House  Cellar, 
A  Ragpicker's  Room  ln  a  Tenement-House,    . 
A  Training-School  of  Crime.     Boys  playing  pickpocket, 
A  Tenement-House  Alley  Gang.     Candddates  for  crime, 
An  Alley  Trio.     As  found  ln  a  Mulberry  Street  Alley 
Interior  of  a  Low  Groggery  on  Cherry  Street, 
An  Old  Corner  Groggery  near  a  Tenement-House  District 
Old  and  Young  Toughs  Playing  Cards  on  the  Docks, 
Police  Headquarters  Building,  . 
Main  Entrance  to  Police  Headquarters  Building, 
Patrolman's  Shield,  .... 

Midnight  Rollcall  at  a  Police  Station-House, 
Policemen's  School  of  Instruction, 
FOUND  STRAYED.— ELEVEN  O'CLOCK  AT  NIGHT  IN 
THE    LOST    CHILDREN'S   ROOM  AT  POLICE  HEAD- 
QUARTERS.—LOST     CHILDREN    WAITING    TO    BE 
CLAIMED,     (ff ull  fl>age.)  .  .  .  Toface 

Meeting—Place  of  Telegraph  Wires  at  Police  Headquar- 
ters communicating  with  all  parts  of  the  World, 
Policeman'  Billy,  Day  Club,  and  Night  Stick, 
AN  ABANDONED  INFANT.—  A  POLICEMAN  REPORT- 
ING   A    LITTLE    FOUNDLING    PICI^ED    UP    IN    AN 
ALLEY.— A  WINTER   NIGHT  SCENE   AT  A  POLICE 
STATION-HOUSE,     (ffull  fl>age.)       .  .  Toface 

Harbor  Police  Searching  for  River  Thteves, 
Handcuffs,     ...... 

Prisoners'  Cells  ln  a  Police  Station-House, 

The  Lost-Property  Room  at  Police  Headquarters 

A  Scallng-Ladder, 

SCALING-L ADDER  DRILL, 

Fireman's  Life-Saving  Hook  and  Belt, 
The  Jumping  or  Life-Saving  Net, 
The  Llfe-Line  Gun, 
The  Dummy,  ..... 
Life-Saving  Net  Drill,    . 


459 
459 
465 

467 
471 
477 
479 
481 
482 
484 
485 
487 
489 
492 
494 
500 
501 
502 
503 
506 


509 

510 

512 


517 
518 
520 
521 
524 
530 
531 
532 
533 
534 
534 
535 


LIST    OF 


•LUSTRA!  EONS. 


19 


186 
187 
188 
189 
190 
191 
192 
193 
194 
195 
196 
197 
198 
199 

200 
201 
202 
203 


204 
205 
206 
207 
208 

209 
210 
211 
212 
213 
214 
215 
216 
217 
218 
219 
220 
221 
222 
223 


Life-Line  Drill,      ..... 
In  the  Hospital  for  Sick  and  Disabled  Horse 
Waiting  fob  the  Signal, 
The  Jumping-Hole, 

The  Night  Alarm,  . 

Off  to  a  Fire, 

A  Ladder  Truck,     . 

Lamp  Post  Surmounting  a  Fire  Signal-Box,  . 

Fire  Signal-Box  on  a  Street  Lamp  Post, 

A  Xoted  Corner  Resort  for  Chinese  Gamblers, 

Entrance  to  a  Chinese  Gambling-House  over  an  Opium-Den 

A  Chlnese  Vender  of  Shelled  Beans, 

Waiting  for  Trade.     Chlnese  Curbstone  Merchant-. 

Ln  the  Rear   of  a   Chlnese  Restaurant   on  Pell  Street 
Skins  stuffed  with  meat  hung  up  to  dry, 

Tobacco  Smokers  in  a  Joss-House, 

11  hlttlng  the  plpe."    scene  in  an  opium'  den, 

A  Chinaman  and  his  White  TVife  Smoking  Opium,    . 

A  Sly  Opium  Smoker.  (This  photograph  was  made  by  flash 
LiGnT  ln  a  Chinese  Opium  Den  on  Pell  Street,  when 
the  smoker  was  supposed  to  be  fast  asleep.  subse 
quently  the  photograph  disclosed  the  fact  that  hi 
had  at  least  one  eye  open  when  the  picture  was  made) 

Caught  ln  the  Act.     An  Opium  Smoker  surprised,  . 

A  Tramp's  Interrupted  Xap,      .... 

Early  Morning  on  the  Docks.     A  GANG  of  sleeping  tramps 

A  Sleeping  Tramp.     A  brick  for  a  pillow,    . 

A  Dangerous  Place  for  a  Snooze.     A  tramp  sleeping  on 

THE    STRUNG-PIECE    OF   A   PIER,       . 

A  Genuinely  Busted  Tramp, 

An  Uncomfortable  Bed,  even  for  a  Tramp 

Taking  it  Easy.     A  tramp's  noon  hour, 

A  Tramp's  Sunday  Morning  Change, 

A  Blind  Mans  Tin  Sign,    . 

What  was  on  the  Other  Side,    . 

A  Typical  Pawnshop, 

The  Old  Candy  Woman,     . 

"Pencils,"     .... 

An  Italian  Notion  Peddler, 

A  Fruit  Vender  and  his  "  Shouter, 

Pretzel  Sellers, 

"Cash  Paid  for  Rags," 

Making  a  Careful  Selection, 

A  Fayorite    Place    for    Street    Children.      "Cold    sod 

WATER  2  CENTS,  ICE  CREAM  1  CENT,"  . 


20  ,  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

224  Curbstone  Dry  Goods  Merchants,         ....  625 

225  Introductory  Illustration  to  Part  III,          .            .           .  641 

226  PORTRAIT  OF  CHIEF   INSPECTOR   THOMAS  BYRNES. 

Engraved  on  Steel  from  a  Photograph  taken  expressly 

for  this  work.     .....              To  face  645 

227  Ornamental  Heading  to  Opening  Chapter  of  Part  III,     .  645 

228  A  Ten  Cent  Attic  Lodging-Room  of  the  Better  Class,    .  646 

229  A  Seven  Cent  Lodging-Room  at  Midnight,     .  .  .649 

230  Night  in  a  Hammock  Lodging-Room  for  Tramps,      .            .  652 

231  IN    DARKEST   NEW    YORK.—  MIDNIGHT  IN  A  CHEAP 

UNDERGROUND     LODGING     CELLAR.         "THREE 

CENTS  A  SPOT."    (ffull  Ipage.)       .            .              To  face  655 

232  Tools  and  Implements  taken  from  Burglars,            .            .  659 

233  Sectional  Jimmies  and  Skeleton  Keys  taken  from  Burglars,  660 

234  Burglars'  Improved  Safe  Opener,         .  .  .  .662 

235  Burglars'  Jackscrew,        ......  662 

236  Dark  Lanterns  taken  from  Burglars,  .  .  .663 

237  Burglars'  Diamond-Pointed  Crank  Drill,      .            .            .  664 

238  Burglars'  Steel  and  Copper  Sledges  and  Steel  Wedges,  .  665 

239  Burglars'  Sectional  Jimmies   and  Leather  Case,     .            .  666 

240  Dummy  Pistol  and  Whisky  Flask  taken  from  Burglars,   .  667 

241  Burglars'  Powder  Can,  Funnel,  Blower,  and  Fuse,           .  668 

242  Burglars'  Tools  used  to  obtain  Leverage,     .            .            .  669 

243  Burglars'  Mallets  and  Handhook,'        ....  671 

244  Burglars'  Key  Nippers,     ......  683 

245  False  and  Skeleton  Keys  taken  from  House  Thieves,      .  685 

246  AN      UNWILLING      SUBJECT.  —  PHOTOGRAPHING     A 

PRISONER   FOR   THE   ROGUE'S   GALLERY   AT   PO- 
LICE HEADQUARTERS,     (tfull  Ipage.)        .              To  face  690 

247  Stilettoes  and  Knives  taken  from  Criminals,          .            .  694 

248  Sandbags  and  Slungshots  taken  from  Criminals,     .            .  695 

249  Gags  Taken  from  Burglars.     (From  the  Museum  of  Crime),  696 

250  Underground  Cells  at  Police  Headquarters,            .  713 

251  Chief  Inspector  Byrnes's  Private  Room  at  Police  Head- 

quarters, ........  735 


PART    I. 


BY 


Wl^ 


L^_ 


CHAPTER  I. 

SUNDAY  IX  WATER  STREET  —  HOMES  OF  REVELRY  AXD  VICE  — 
SCENES  IX  THE  MISSION  ROOM  — STRANGE  EXPERIEXCES. 

Water  Street,  its  Life  and  Surroundings  —  A  Harvest  Field  for  Saloons  and 
Bucket-Shops  —  Dens  of  Abomination  —  Sunday  Sights  and  Scenes  —  The 
Little  Sign,  "Helping  Hand  for  Men"  —  Inside  the  Mission  Building  — 
An  Audience  of  ex-Convicts  and  Criminals  —  A  Tough  Crowd  —  Jerry 
McAuley's  Personal  Appearance  —  A  Typical  Ruffian  —  A  Shoeless  and 
Hatless  Brigade  —  Pinching  Out  the  Xame  of  Jesus — "God  Takes  what 
the  Devil  Would  Turn  up  His  Xose  at" — "  O,  Dear-r,  Dear-r,  Dearie 
Me!"  —  Comical  Scenes  —  Quaint  Speeches  —  Screams  and  Flying  Stove- 
Lids —  A  Child's  Hymn  —  "Our  Father  in  Heaven,  We  Hallow  Thy 
Name  "  —  Old  Padgett  —  A  Water  Street  Bum  —  "  God  be  Merciful  to  Me 
a  Sinner" — A  Terrible  Night  in  a  Cellar  —  The  Empty  Arm-Chair,   49 


CHAPTER  II. 

CHRISTIAN  WORK  IN  WATER  STREET  — THE  STORY  OF  JERRY 
McAULEY'S  LIFE  TOLD  BY  HIMSELF  — A  CAREER  OF  WICK- 
EDNESS AND  CRIME  — THE  MISSION  NOW. 

The  Historic  Five  Points  —  Breeding-Ground  of  Crime  —  Dirtv  Homes  and 
Hard  Faces  —  "  The  Kind  God  Don't  Want  and  the  Devil  Won'1  Bave" 
—  Jerry  McAuley  —  The  Story  of  His  Life  Told  by  Himself  —  Born  in 
a  New  York  Slum  —  A  Loafer  by  Day  and  a  River  Thief  by  Night- 
Prizefighter,  Drunkard,  Blackleg,  and  Bully  —  A  Life  of  Wickedness 
and  Crime  —  Fifteen  Years  in  Prison  —  His  Prison  Experiences  —  Un- 
expected Meeting  with  "Awful"  Gardner  —  Jerry's  First  Prayer — He 
Hears  a  Voice  —  Released  from  Prison — His  Return  to  Old  Haunts 
and  Ways  —  Signing  the  Pledge  —  His  Wife — Starting  the  Water  Street 
Mission  —  An  Audience  of  Tramps  and  Bums — Becomes  an  Apostle  to 
the  Roughs  —  Jerry's  Death  —  Affecting  Scenes  —  Old  Joe  Chappy — A 
Mother's  Last  Words  —  A  Refuge  for  the  Wicked  and  Depraved,  88 
2  (21) 


22  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEK  III. 

UP  SLAUGHTER  ALLEY,  OR  LIFE  IN  A  TENEMENT-HOUSE  —  A 
TOUR  THROUGH  HOMES  OF  MISERY,  WANT,  AND  WOE 
—  DRINK'S  DOINGS. 

Why  Called  Slaughter  Alley  —  Kicking  a  Missionary  Downstairs  —  Life  and 
Scenes  in  Tenement-Houses  —  Voices  and  Shapes  in  the  Darkness  —  My 
Tour  with  the  Doctor  —  Picking  our  Way  through  Slime  and  Filth  — 
"Mammy's  Lookin'  for  You"  —  "  Murtherin'  Dinnis" —  Misery  and 
Squalor  Side  by  Side  —  Stalwart  Tim  —  In  the  Presence  of  Death  —  "I 
Want  to  go,  but  I'm  Willin'  to  Wait "  — Patsy  —  A  Five- Year-Old 
Washerwoman  —Sickening   Odors  —  Human  Beasts  —  Dangerous  Places 

—  "Mike  Gim'me  a  Dollar  for  the  Childer  "  —  The  Charity  of  the  Poor 

—  "Oh,  Wurra,  me  Heart's  Sick  in  me"  —  Homes  Swarming  with 
Rats  —  Alive  with  Vermin  and  Saturated  with  Filth  —  The  Omnipresent 
Saloon  —  A  Nursery  of  Criminals  and  Drunkards  —  Conceived  in  Sin 
and  Born  in  Iniquity  —  The  Dreadful  Tenement-House  System,     .     89 


CHAPTER   IY. 

NEW  YORK  NEWSBOYS— WHO  THEY  ARE,  WHERE  THEY  COME 
FROM,  AND  HOW  THEY  LIVE  — THE  WAIFS  AND  STRAYS 
OF  A  GREAT  CITY. 

The  Newsboys'  Code  of  Morals  —  Curious  Beds  for  Cold  Winters'  Nights  — 
Shivering  Urchins  —  Sleeping  in  a  Burned-out  Safe  —  Creeping  into  Door- 
ways—  The  Street  Arab  and  the  Gutter-Snipe  —  A  Curious  Mixture  of 
Morality  and  Vice  —  His   Religion  —  "Kind  o'  Lucky  to  say  a  Prayer" 

—  Newsboys'  Lodging-Houses  —  First  Night  in  a  Soft  Bed  —  Favorite 
Songs  —  Trying  Times  in  "Boys'  Meetings"  —  Opening  the  Savings  Bank 

—  The  ' '  Doodes  "  —  Pork  and  Beans  —  Popular  Nicknames  —  Teaching 
Self -Help  —  Western  Homes  for  New  York's  Waifs — "  Wanted,  a  Perfect 
Boy" — How  a  Street  Arab  Went  to  Yale  College  —  Newsboy  Orators  — 
A  Loud  Call  for  "Paddy" — "Bummers,  Snoozers,  and  Citizens"  —  Speci- 
mens of  Wit  and  Humor — "Jack  de  Robber"  —  The  "Kid" — "Ain't  Got 
no  Mammy"  —  A  Life  of  Hardship  —  Giving  the  Boys  a  Chance,    111 


CHAPTER  Y. 

THE   ONE  HUNDRED   THOUSAND   LITTLE   LABORERS  OF   NEW 
YORK  — CHILD  WORKERS  — THEIR  HOMES  AND  DAILY  LIFE. 

One  Hundred  Thousand  Little  Workers  —  Little  Mothers  —  Early  Lessons 
in  Drinking  — A  Sup  of  the  "Craytur"  — A  Six-Year-Old  Nurse  — A 
"Widdy  Washerwoman "—"  See  How  Beautiful  He  Sucks  at  the 
Pork"  — Heavy  Burdens  on  Small  Shoulders  —  What  a  Child  of  Eight 
Can  Do  —  Feather  Strippers  —  Paper  Collar  Makers  —  Tobacco  Strippers 
—  Youth  and  Old  Age  Side  by  Side  —  Cigar-Makers  —  Deadly  Trades  — 
Working  in  Cellars —  "  Them  Stairs  is  Killin'  "  —  What  Jinny  and  Manic 
Did  —  Pinched  with  Hunger — "She  Could  Sew  on  Buttons  when  She 
Wasn't  Much  Over  Four"  — A  Tiny  Worker  of  Five  —  "  Stitch,  Stitch 
Stitch,  in  Poverty,  Hunger,  and  Dirt" — Scenes  in  Working  Children's 
Homes  —  "She's  Sewed  on  Millions  of  Buttons,  that  Child  Has"  —  "A 
Hot  Place  Waitin'  for  Him"  —  Preternaturally  Aged  Faces,    .     .     139 


CONTENTS.  2  3 

CHAPTER  VI. 

CHILD-LIFE  IN  THE  SLUMS -HOMELESS  STREET  BOYS,  GUTTER 
SNIPES  AND  DOCK  RATS  —  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  DAY- 
BREAK BOY. 

Gutter-Snipes  —  Imps  of  Darkness  —  Snoopers  —  Rags  and  Tatters— Life  in 
the  Gutter  —  Old  Sol  —  Running  a  Grocery  under  Difficulties  —  Youthful 
Criminals  —  Newsboys  and  Bootblacks— Candidates  for  Crime— "He's 
Smart,  He  Is"  —  "It's  Business  Folks  as  Cheats"  —  Dock  Hats  —  Unre- 
claimed Children — Thieves'  Lodging-Houses  —  Poverty  Lane  —  Hell's 
Kitchen  —  Dangers  of  a  Street  Girl's  Life  —  Old  Margaret  —The  Reforma- 
tion of  Wildfire—  The  Queen  of  Cherry  Street  —  Sleeping  on  the  Docks  — 
Too  Much  Lickin'  and  More  in  Prospect  —  A  Street  Arab's  Summer  Resi- 
dence—  A  Walking  Rag-Bundle  —  Getting  Larruped  —  A  Daybreak  Boy 

—  Jack's  Story  of  his  Life  —  Buckshot  Taylor  —  A  Thieves' Run-way  — 
Escaping  over  Roofs  —  A  Police  Raid  —  Head-first  off  the  Roof  —  Death  of 
Jack  —  His  Dying  Request  —  Fifteen  Thousand  Homeless  Children,  149 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  OPEN  DOORS  OF  MERCY  — THE  SOCIETY  FOR  THE  PRE- 
VENTION OF  CRUELTY  TO  CHILDREN  — BRUTES  IN  HUMAN 
FORM  — THE  DEMON  OF  DRINK  — RESCUE  WORK. 

"That  is  Mary  Ellen"  — The  First  Child  Rescued  — A  Dying  Woman's  Re- 
quest— What  the  Court  Saw  when  the  Blanket  was  Unrolled — A  Dramatic 
Scene  —  Little  Acrobats  —  Helpless  Little  Sufferers  —  Specious  Pleas  of 
Criminal  Lawyers  —  Inhuman  Parents  —  A  Lovely  Face  Hidden  under 
Filth  and  Clotted  Blood — Extreme  Cruelty — A  Fit  Subject  for  the  Lash 

—  Restored  to  Home  at  Last— A  Sad  Case— "Before  and  After"  — Two 
Boy  Tramps  — Driven  from  Home  — Cases  of  Special  Brutality  —  Shiver- 
ing from  Fright —Wild-Eyed  Children  — A  Fresh  Arrival  at  the  Society's 
Rooms— "Everything  Must  be  Burned"— "He  is  Alive"  — The  First 
Sleep  in  a  Bed  —  A  Life  of  Pain  — A  Drunken  Mother  of  Seven  Children 

—  Unspeakable  Horrors  —  A  Lily  from  a  Dung-Heap  —  The  Sale  of 
Liquor  to  Children  —  Children  as  Fierce  as  Starved  Dogs  —  Terrible 
Tortures, 170 


CHAPTEK  VIII. 

MISSION  WORK  IN  TOUGH  PLACES  — SEEKING  TO  SAVE— A 
LEAF  FROM  THE  EXPERIENCE  OF  AN  ALL-NIGHT  MISSION- 
ARY—RESCUE WORK  IN  THE  SLUMS. 

The  Cremorne  Mission  —  A  Piteous  Cry  for  Help  —  "  Lock  me  up"  —  Mrs 
McAuley*s  Prayer  — A  Convert  from  the  Lowest  Depths  — Ragged  Kitty, 
the  News  Girl  — Marks  of  a  Mother's  Cruelty—  "  Let  me  out  "—  "  I  Want 
me  Pat  "  — Distressing  Scenes  —  "Mashing"  the  Baby  —  Begging  for 
Shelter  and  Warmth  — An  Ail-Night  Missionary's  Story— A  Baxter  Street 
Audience  — "Roll,  Jordan,  Roll  I"  — Story  of  Welsh  Jennie  — A  Mother's 
Love— "She  is  Dead  "  —  Seeking  to  Save  — A  Midnight  Tour  through 
Dens  of  Vice  and  Misery  —  Horrible  Sights —  An  Emblem  of  Purity  in  the 
Midst  of  Vice — "It's  no  Use!  It's  no  Use!" — "Don't  you  Know  me  Mother? 
lam  your  Jennie"  —  Affecting  Meeting  of  a  Mother  and  her  Erring 
Daughter  — Old  Michael's  Story  —  Fiftv-three  Years  in  Prison-.   .     185 


24  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  SLUMS  BY  NIGHT  — THE  UNDER-WORLD  OF  NEW  YORK  — 
LIFE  AND  SCENES  IN  DENS  OF  INFAMY  AND  CRIME  — NIGHT 
REFUGES  FOR  WOMEN  —  FAST  LIFE  —  CHRISTIAN  WORK 
AMONG  OUTCASTS. 

A  Nocturnal  Population  —  Dens  of  Infamy  —  Gilded  Palaces  of  Sin  —  The 
Open  Door  to  Ruin  —  Worst  Phases  of  Night  Life  —  Barred  Doors  and 
Sliding  Panels  —  Mysterious  Disappearances  —  The  Bowery  by  Night  — 
Free-and-Easys  and  Dime  Museums  —  A  Region  of  the  Deepest  Poverty 
and  Vice  —  Vice  the  First  Product,  Death  the  Second  —  Nests  of  Crime  — 
The  Sleeping  Places  of  New  York's  Outcasts  —  Lowering  Brows  and  Evil 
Eyes  —  The  Foxes,  Wolves,  and  Owls  of  Humanity  —  Thieves  and  Nook- 
and-Corner  Men  —  Women  with  Bent  Heads  and  Despairing  Eyes  —  One 
More  Victim  —  Night  Tramps  —  A  Class  that  Never  Goes  to  Bed  —  The 
Beautiful  Side  of  Womanhood  —  Girls'  Lodging-Houses  —  Homes  for  the 
Homeless  —  Gratitude  of  Saved  Women — The  Work  of  the  Night 
Refuges, 208 

CHAPTEE  X. 

NIGHT  MISSION  WORK  — NEW  YORK  STREETS  AFTER  DARK  — 
RESCUE  WORK  AMONG  THE  FALLEN  AND  DEPRAVED  — 
SEARCHING  FOR  THE  LOST  — AN  ALL-NIGHT  MISSIONARY'S 
EXPERIENCE. 

The  "Bloody  Sixth  Ward "  — Hoodlums  —  The  Florence  Night  Mission  — 
Where  the  Inmates  Come  from  —  A  Refuge  for  Fallen  Women  — 
Searching  for  Lost  Daughters  —  Low  Concert  Halls  —  Country  Boys 
Who  "Come  in  Just  to  See"  —  A  Brand  Plucked  from  the  Burning  — 
Old  Rosa's  Den  of  Villainy  —  In  the  Midst  of  Vice  and  Degradation  — 
Rescue  Work  Among  the  Fallen  —  Accordeon  Mary  —  "Sing!  Sing  !" 

—  Gospel  Service  in  a  Stale-Beer  Dive  —  The  Fruits  of  One  False  Step 

—  Scenes  in  Low  Dance-Halls  and  Vile  Resorts  —  Painted  Wrecks  —  An 
All-Night  Missionary's  Experience  —  Saving  a  Despised  Magdalen  —  A 
Perilous  Moment  —  The  Story  of  Nellie  Conroy  —  Rescued  from  the 
Lowest  Depths  of  Sin  —  Nine  Years  in  the  Slums  —  The  Christian  End 
of  a  Misspent  Life  —  Nearing  the  River  —  Nellie's  Death  —  Who  Was 
E M ?  — Twenty-four  Years  a  Tramp  — Last  Words,  .     .     224 

CHAPTER  XI. 

GOSPEL  WORK  IN  THE  SLUMS  — AN  ALL-NIGHT  MISSIONARY'S 
LIFE— A  MIDNIGHT  CURBSTONE  MEETING  — UP  SHINBONE 
ALLEY. 

A  Midnight  Curbstone  Meeting  —  A  Confidence  Game  that  Failed  to  Work 

—  An  Astonished  Thief — "You  Ought  to  be  a  Christian"  —  "Will 
Christ  Pay  my  Rent  ? "  —  A  Midnight  Sermon  —  One  of  the  Devil's 
Family  —  Sowing  Seed  on  Stony  Ground — "If  I'd  only  Stuck  to  Sun- 
day School  "  —  Dark  and  Dirty  Pell  Street  —  Five-Cent  Lodging-Houses 

—  Shinbone  Alley  At  Three  o'clock  in  the  Morning  —  A  Typical  Street 
Boy — One  of  the  Gang — "  Snoozin' "  on  a  Beer  Keg  —  A  Suspicious 
Looking  Wagon  —  A  Whispered  Consultation  —  "  Corkey  "  from  "Up 
de  River"  —  Fallen  among  Thieves — A  Deep  Laid  Plot — A  Thirsty 
Crowd  of  Desperate  Roughs  —  The  Story  of  the  Cross  and  the  Dying 
Thief  —  A  Speechless  Audience  —  "  De  Fust  to  Preach  Religion  roun'  dese 
( 'crners  "  —  "  Wal,  I'm  Blowed  "  —  Caught  by  the  Great  Detective,  247 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEE    XII. 

SHOP-GIRLS    AND   WORKING    WOMEN— THE  GREAT   ARMY   OF 
NEW  YORK  POOR  — LIFE  UNDER  THE  GREAT  BRIDGE— THE 

BITTER  CRY  OF  NEW  YORK. 

Simp-Girls  and  their  Lives —Workers  in  all  Trades— Aching  Heads  and  Tired 
Feet — The  Comforts  of  Old  Shoes — Women  in  Rags  who  S.-w  Silk  and 
Velvet  —  Stories  of  Want  and  Misery  —  Life  among  the  Very  Poor  — 
Working  Fourteen  Hours  for  Thirty  Cents  —  The  Luxury  of  Sixty  Cents 
a  Day  —  Skeletons  al  Work  —  Brutal  Sweaters  —  Grinding  the  races  of 
the  Poor — Human  Ghouls  Who  Drink  Blood  and  Eat  Flesh  —  "Poor 
Folks  Can't  Have  Much  Rostin'  nor  Fine  Doin's"  —  How  Norah  Cooked 
the  Steak— "  Beans! "  —  Tea  Like  Ly« — People  who  have  "Known  Bet- 
ter Days" —  Life  Under  the  Great  Bridge  —  Turning  Night  into  Day— 
Cries  of  Despair — Want  and  Woe  —  Hope  Never  Dies—  Living  on  Porridge 
at  Six  Cents  a  Day  —  Fearful  Seenes  —  Starving  Body  and  Soul — - 
Better,  Always  Worse  and  Worse"  —  The  Sorrow'  of  the  Poor,  .     2oo 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

HOSPITAL  LIFE  IN  NEW  YORK  —  A  TOUR  THROUGH  THE 
WARDS  OF  OLD  BELLEYUE  —  AFFECTING  SCENES  —  THE 
MORGUE   AND   ITS   SILENT   OCCUPANTS. 

Wealth  and  Misery  Side  by  Side —Training  Sehools  for  Nurses— A  "Hurry" 
Call  —  The  Ambulance  Service  —  Prejudice  against  Hospitals  —  A  Place 
where  the  Doctors  Cut  up  Folks  Alive  —  Taken  to  the  Dead-House  — 
"Soon  they  will  be  Cuttin'  him  up"  —  Etherizing  a  Patient  —  A  Painless 
and  Bloodless  Operation  — A  Patient  Little  Sufferer  —  Ministering  A 
—  Cutting  off  a  Lf'j;  in  Fifteen  Seconds — A  Swift  Amputation  —  Miracu- 
lous Skill  — Thanking  the  Doctor  for  Hastening  the  End— "Those  Last 
Precious.  Painless  Hours"— A  Child's  Idea  of  Heaven—"  Who  Will  Mind 
the  Baby  "  —  Flowers  in  Heaven  —  The  Morgue  —  Its  Silent  Occupants  — 
The  Prisoners'  Cage  —  Searching  for  her  Son  —  An  Affecting  Meeting  — 
"Charlie,  Mother  is  Here "—"  Too  Late,  Too  Late"  — A  Pathetic 
Scene, 27(J 


CHAPTEE   XIY. 

FLOWER  MISSIONS  AND  THE  FRESH  AIR  FUND  — THE  DISTRI- 
BUTION OF  FLOWERS  AMONG  THE  SICK  AND  POOR  — 
ANECDOTES  AND  INCIDENTS. 

Along  the  River  Front  —  A  Dangerous  Localitv  —  First  Lessons    in  Thiev- 
ing—Headquarters  of   River  Pirates— The  Influence   of   Flowers   in  a 

Region  of  Vice  and  Crime  —  Fighting  Bad  Smells  with  Good  Ones  — 
A  Magic  Touch  — Bud  and  Bloom  in  the  Windows  of  the  Poor  — 
Flowers  and  Plants  in  Tumble-Down  Houses  and  Tenement  Rookeries 
—  Distributing  Flowers  Among  the  Sick  — Flowers  in  Hospitals  —  The 
Story  of  a  Bunch  of  Buttercups  — Children  Carrying  Flowers  I 
with  Them  — "The  Pansy  Man"  — Taking  Flowers  out  for  a  Walk — 
Effect  of  Flowers  on  a  Sick  Child— The  Story  of  "  Long  Sal"  and  Her 
Geranium  — A  Female  Terror  — Going  out  to  "Catch  Raspberries "  — 
Slum  Children's  First  Week  in  the  Country  — A  Suspicious  Mother  — 
Rich  Results  from  Two  Dollars  a  Week  — "Ain't  They  God's?"    305 


26  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEK   XV. 

A  DAY  IN  A  FREE  DISPENSARY  —  RELIEVING  THE  SUFFERING 
POOR  — MISSIONARY  NURSES  AND  THEIR  WORK  — A  TOUCH- 
ING STORY. 

From  Hod-Carrying  to  Alderman  —  Leavening  the  Whole  Lump  —  A  Great 
Charity  —  Filthy  but  Thrifty  —  A  Day  at  the  Eastern  Dispensary  — 
Diseases  Springing  from  Want  and  Privation  —  A  Serious  Crowd  —  Sift- 
ing out  Impostors  —  The  Children's  Doctor  —  Forlorn  Faces  —  A  Doomed 
Family  —  A  Scene  on  the  Stairs  —  Young  Roughs  and  Women  with 
Blackened  Eyes  —  A  Labor  of  Love  —  Dread  of  Hospitals  —  ' '  They  Cut 
You  Open  Before  the  Breath  is  out  of  Your  Body  "  —  The  Black  Bot- 
tle—  Sewing  up  a  Body  and  Making  a  Great  Pucker  in  the  Seam  —  A 
Missionary  Nurse  —  A  Tale  of  Destitution,  Sickness,  and  Death  —  A 
Pathetic  Appeal  —  A  Starving  Family  —  Just  in  Time  —  Heartbroken — A 
Fight  with  Death  — "Work  is  all  I  Want"—  A  Merciful  Release,  318 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

LIFE  BEHIND  THE  BARS  — A  VISIT  TO  THE  TOMBS— SCENES 
WITHIN  PRISON  WALLS  — RAYS  OF  LIGHT  ON  A  DARK 
PICTURE. 

The  Tombs  —  A  Gloomy  Prison  —  The  Bridge  of  Sighs  —  Murderers'  Row  — 
The  Procession  to  the  Gallows — "Flop  Flop,  Flop  Flop"  —  "Many 
Would  Give  a  V  to  see  it " — Bummers'  Hall  —  Aristocratic  Prisoners  — 
Prison  Routine  —  Remarkable  Escapes  of  Prisoners  —  The  Dreary  Station- 
House  Cell  —  A  Bitter  Cry — The  Value  of  "Inflooence" — Shyster  Law- 
yers—  Poverty-Stricken  Men,  Women,  and  Children  —  A  Wife's  Pitiful 
Plea  —  Tales  of  Destitution  and  Misery  —  Sad  Cases — A  Noble  Woman 
—  An  Unheeded  Warning  —  Bribery,  Corruption,  and  Extortion  —  A  Day 
in  the  Police  Courts  —  How  Justice  is  Administered  —  A  Judge's  Strange 
and  Thrilling  Story — "Give  me  my  Pound  of  Flesh,"     ....     335 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

LURKING  PLACES  OF  SIN  — FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  CRIME  — 
CELLAR  HAUNTS  AND  UNDERGROUND  RESORTS  OF  CRIMI- 
NALS—THE STORY  OF  JIM,  AN  EX-CONVICT. 

The  Slums  of  New  York  —  Cellar  Harbors  for  Criminals  —  Face  to  Face  with 
Crime  —  Old  Michael  Dunn  —  A  Tour  through  Criminal  Haunts  —  Jim 
Tells  the  Story  of  his  Life  —  Sleeping  in  Packing  Boxes,  Boilers,  and 
Water  Pipes  —  My  Visit  to  one  of  his  Hiding  Places  —  A  Thrilling  Experi- 
ence in  a  Damp  and  Mouldy  Cellar  —  Locked  in — A  Mad  Fight  for  Life — 
Floating  on  a  Plank  —  Underground  Resorts  of  Pickpockets  and  Thieves 
—  How  River  Thieves  Operate  — A  Midnight  Expedition  —  An  Evil  Region 
— Young  Ruffians  and  Sneak  Thieves — Patroling  the  Streets  at  Night  — The 
Policeman's  Story  —  Open  Vice  of  Every  Form  —  Lurking  Places  of  Crim- 
inals—  Sneak  Thieves  —  Dangerous  Localities —  "  Hell's  Kitchen,"  .  352 


CONTENTS.  27 

CHAPTEE  XVIIL 

LIFE  OX  BLACKWELL'S  [BLAND  — THE  DREGS  OF  A  GREAT 
CITY  —  WHERE  CRIMINALS,  PAUPERS,  AND  LUNATICS  ARK 
CARED  FOR  — A  CONVICT'S  DAILY  LIFE  —  " DRINK'S  OUR 
CURSE/* 

The  "Tub  of  Misery  "—A  Miserable  Sight— Gutter-Soaked  Rags  and  Mat- 
ted Hair  —  Rounders  —  Terrible  Scenes  —  Insanity  in  Handcuffs — Results 
of  Trying  to  "See  Life"  in  New  York  —  Aristocrats  in  Crinn — Appeals 
for  Mercy  — Sounds  that   Make  the   Blood   Run  Cold  —  White   Heads 

Brought  Low  —  A  Pandemonium  —  Vermin-Infested  Clothes  —  Insane 
from  the  "Horrors" — Suicides — "Famine  Meal" — Odd  Delusions  and 
Beliefs  of  the  Insane  — The  Queen  of  Heaven  — The  Mother  of  Forty-live 
Children  —  Snakes  in  his  Stomach —" Oh,  Lord!  They're  Squirming 
Again  "—A  Contented  Tinker — Waiting  for  the  River  to  Dry  up — "  For 
the  Love  of  God.  Bring  me  a  Coffin" — A  Ghoul  in  the  Dead-House  —  An 
Irish  Philosopher — The  Penitentiary  —  Daily  Life  of  Prisoners  —  A  Hard 
Fate  —  Convict  Labor — Seeret  Communications  between  Prisoners,  302 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HEAVENLY  CHARITIES  — SISTER  IRENE'S  MYSTERIOUS  BASKET 
—  HOMES  FOR  FOUNDLINGS  AND  LITTLE  WAIFS. 

Sister  Irene  —  A  Modern  Good  Samaritan  —  A  Mysterious  Little  Basket  —  Its 
First  Appearance  —  "  What  Can  it  be  for  ?"  — Its  First  Tiny  Occupant  — 
Crouching  in  the  Shadow  —  An  Agonizing  Parting  —  Babies  Abandoned 
on  the  Street  —  Broken-Hearted  Mother-  — A  "Rent-Baby" — A  "Run- 
Around" —  How  Sifter  Irene's  Basket  Grew  into  a  Six-Story  Building  — 
Fatherless  Children  —  Babies  of  all  Kinds  —  How  the  Record  of  each  Baby 
is  Kept  —  Curious  Requests  for  Children  for  Adoption — "  Wanted,  a  Nice 
Little  Red-Headed  Boy  "  —  An  Inquiry  for  a  Girl  with  a  "  Pretty  Nose  — 
"  Going  to  Meet  Papa  and  Mamma  "  —  The  Sunny  Side  of  the  Work  —  The 
Darker  Side  of  the  Picture  —  Pain  and  Suffering  —  Worn  Little  Faces  — 
The  Babies'  Hospital  —  Free  Cribs  for  Little  Sufferers, 381 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ITALIAN  LIFE  IX   NEW  YORK  —  SCENES  IX  THE   GREAT  BEXD 
IX  MULBERRY  STREET  — HOMES  OF  FILTH  AXI)  SQUALOR 

The  Home  of  the  Organ-Grinder  and  his  Monkey  —  Italian  Child  Slavery  — 
Begging,  or  Honest  Occupation  —  Grinding  Poverty  —  An  Italian's  First 
View  of  Xew  York  —  Flashing  Eyes  and  (ray-Colored   Raiment  — Fatalists 

—  The  Great  Bend  in  Mulberry  Street — Mouldy  Bread  and  Skinny  Poultry 

—  Tainted  Meat  and  Ancient*  Fish —Unbearable  Odors  —  Rotten  Vegeta- 
bles and  Rancid  Butter  —  Strong  Flavors  in  Cooking  —  The  Beehive  — 
Bones,  Garbage,  and  Rags — Squalid  and  Filthy  Homes  —  Swarming  in 
Great  Tenement  Houses— Maccaroni  and  Oil— The  Monkey-Trainer  — 
Rag-Pickers  in  Cellars  and  Basements  —  How  the  Italians  Live  —  Smashed 
Eggs  by  the  Spoonful— "Little  Italv," 398 


28  ,  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

SHANTYTOWN  AND  ITS  DWELLERS  —  LIFE  AMONG  NEW  YORK 
SQUATTERS  — CHARACTERISTIC  SCENES  AND  INCIDENTS. 

The  Land  of  Hans  and  Pat  — A  Fertile  Field  for  Artists  — The  March  of  Im- 
provement —  German  Patience  and  Industry  —  Pat's  Fondness  for  White- 
wash —  An  Accommodating  Style  of  Architecture  —  Growing  up  in  Shan- 
tytown  —  Nora  says  "  Yes"  —  Sudden  Evictions  —  The  Possibilities  of  Old 
Junk  —  A  Persistent  Landholder  ;  His  Home  Blasted  from  under  him  — 
Making  the  Most  of  a  Little  —  The  Living  among  the  Dead  —  The  Animals 
of  Shantytown  —  Dogs  and  Goats  as  Breadwinners — The  Pound  —  The 
Aristocracy  of  the  Tenement-Houses  —  An  Irish  Landholder  —  The  Stuff 
Aldermen  are  Made  of  —  Rapid  Rises  from  Small  Beginnings  —  Cleaning 
out  the  Shanties  —  The  Shadow  which  Overhangs  Shantytown,     .     411 


CHAPTEK   XXII. 

UNDERGROUND  LIFE  IN  NEW  YORK  — CELLAR  AND  SHED 
LODGINGS  —  DENS  OF  THE  VICIOUS  AND  DEPRAVED  — 
STARTLING  SCENES. 

Life  in  Basements  and  Cellars  —  Underground  Lodging  Places  —  Where 
Outcasts  and  Vagrants  Congregate  —  The  Worst  Forms  of  Crime,  Im- 
morality, and  Drunkenness  —  Sleeping  Over  Tide  Mud  —  Afloat  in  Their 
Beds  —  A  Visit  to  Casey's  Den  —  A  Rope  for  a  Pillow  —  Packed  Like 
Herrings  —  Pestilential  Places  —  A  Blear-Eyed  Crowd  —  "  Full  "  —  Five 
in  a  Bed  —  "  Thim's  Illigant  Beds"  —  Sickening  Sights  —  Cellar  Scenes 

—  Rum  Three  Cents  a  Glass — "It's  the  Vermin  that's  the  Worst"  — 
Standing  up  all  Night  —  Floors  of  Rotten  Boards  —  Dreadful  Surround- 
ings—  Things  that  Creep  and  Bite  —  A  "Shake-Down"  —  The  Home 
of  Criminals  and  Beggars — "Three  Cents  a  Spot"  —  A  Five-Cent  Bed 

—  "In  God  we  Trust;  All  Else  is  Cash"  —  The  Saloon  and  the  Lodg- 
ing-House  on  Friendly  Terms  —  An  Army  of  Impecunious  People,    420 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

JACK  ASHORE  — AN  EASY  PREY  FOR  LAND-SHARKS  AND 
SHARPERS  — LIFE  ON  THE  "ST.  MARY'S"  AND  AT  THE 
SAILORS'   SNUG  HARBOR. 

The  Universal  Love  for  the  Sea  —  Sailor  Life  —  A  Tale  of  Shipwreck 
and  Starvation  —  An  Unconscious  Hero  —  An  Old  Sailor's  Story  —  "I 
Smelled  the  Sea  an'  Heard  it"  —  A  Voice  from  the  Waves — "Jack, 
Jack,  You  Ain't  in  your  Right  Place"  —  Jack's  Curious  Character  — 
His  Credulity  and  Simplicity  —  The  Prey  of  Land-Sharks  and  Sharpers 
—  Sailors'  Temptations  —  Dens  of  Robbery  and  Infamy  —  Life  in  Sail- 
ors' Boarding-Houses  —  The  Seamen's  Exchange  —  A  Boy's  Life  on  the 
School  Ship  "St.  Mary's"  —  Bethels  and  Seamen's  Homes  —  Life  at  the 
Sailors'  Snug  Harbor  —  A  Sailor-Clergyman  —  Fried  Fish  for  Eight 
Hundred  —  The  Cripples'  Room  —  "A  Case  of  Pure  Cussedness"  — 
Admiral  Farragut  and  Old  Jim  —  Bane  and  Antidote  Side  by  Side  —  End- 
ing their  Days  in  Peace  —  Jack  Awaiting  the  Ebbing  of  the  Tide,    434 


MPIDH3 

-—- — 

PART   II. 

BY 


/%r^t^T  /^^^c^r 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

STREET  LIFE  — THE  BOWERY  BY  DAY  AND  BY  NIGHT  — LIFE 
EN  BAXTER  AXD  CHATHAM   STREETS. 

A  Street  Where  Silence  Never  Reigns  —  Where  Poverty  and  Millions 
Touch  Elbows — "Sparrow-Chasers" — Fifth  Avenue  —  The  Home  of 
Wealth  and  Fashion  —  Life  on  the  Bowery  —  Pit  and  Peanuts  — 
Pelted  with  Rotten  Eggs  —  Concert  Halls  —  Police  Raids  —  Dime  Muse- 
ums and  their  Freaks  —  Fraud  and  Impudence  —  Outcasts  of  the  Bowery 

—  Beer  Gardens — Slums  of   the  Bowery  —  Night  Scenes  on   the  Streets 

—  Pickpockets  and  Crooks  —  Ragpickers  and  "their  Foul  Trade — '"The 
Black  and  Tan"  —  A  Dangerous  Place — "Makin'  a  Fortin' "  —  "Razors 
in  the  Air"— "Keep  yer  Jints  Well  lied"  — The  Old  Clo'  Shops  of 
Chatham  Street  —  Blarney  and  Cheating, 459 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

TRAINING-SCHOOLS  OF  CRIME  — DRINK,  THE  ROOT  OF  EVIL 
—  GREAT  RESPOXSIBILITY  OF  THE  LIQUOR  TRAFFIC  FOR 
CRIME  — PL AIX  FACTS   AND   STARTLING   STATEMENTS. 

The  Ancestry  of  Crime  —  Effects  of  Heredity  —  Intemperance  the  Root 
of  Evil  —  Pest-Holes  of  New  York  —  Conceived  in  Sin  and  Born  in 
Iniquity  —  Where  Criminals  are  Born  and  How  They  are  Bred  —  Parents, 
Children,  and  Geese  Herded  in  a  Filthy  Cellar — Necessity  the  Mother 
of  (/rime  —  Driven  to  Stealing — The  Petty  Thieving  of  Boys  and  Girls 
—  How  the  Stove  is  Kept  Going — Problems  for  Social  Reformers  — 
Dens  of  Thieves  and  Their  Means  of  Escape  —  Gangs  and  Their 
Occupations  —  Pawn-Shops  and  "Fences" — Eight  Thousand  Saloons 
to  Four  Hundred  Churches  —  Liquor-Dealers  as  Criminals  —  A  Detec- 
tive's Experience  on  Mott  Street  —  A  Mother's  Plea  — A  Cautious 
Countryman  —  An  Unsafe  Place  at  Night— A  Child's  First  Lessons  in 
Crime  —  Cheap  Lodging-Houses  —  Fouf  Beds  and  Noisy  Nights,  .     470 

(29) 


30  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEK   XXVI. 

THE  POLICE  DEPARTMENT  OF  NEW  YORK  — THE  DETECTIVE 
FORCE  AND  ITS  WORK— SHADOWS  AND  SHADOWING  — 
SLEUTH-HOUNDS  OF  THE  LAW. 

A  Building  that  is  Never  Closed  —  Police-Station  Lodgings  —  Cutting  his 
Buttons  off  —  A  Dramatic  Scene  —  Teaching  the  Tenderfeet  —  The  Duties 
of  a  Policeman  —  Inquiries  for  Missing  Friends  —  Mysterious  Cases  — 
Clubbing  —  Night-Clubs  and  Billies  —  Scattering  a  Mob  —  Calling  for  As- 
sistance—  Watching  Strangers — "Tom  and  Jerry"  in  a  Soup  Plate  — 
The  Harbor  Police  —  The  Great  Detective  Force  and  its  Head  —  Chief 
Inspector  Thomas  Byrnes  —  Sketch  of  his  Career  —  A  Proud  Record  — His 
Knowledge  of  Crooks  and  their  Ways  —  Keeping  Track  of  Thieves  and 
Criminals  —  Establishing  a  "Dead  Line  "  in  Wall  Street— Human  De- 
pravity and  Human  Impudence  —  The  Rogues'  Gallery  —  Shadows  and 
Shadowing  —  Unraveling  Plots  —  Skillful  Detective  Work  —  Extorting 
the  Truth  —  The  Museum  of  Crime  —  What  May  Be  Seen  There  —  Disap- 
pearance of  Old  Thieves  —  Rising  Young  Criminals, 498 


CHAPTEK    XXVII. 

FIRE!    FIRE!  — THE    LIFE    OF    A    NEW    YORK    FIREMAN  — THE 
SCHOOL  OF  INSTRUCTION   AND  THE    LIFE-SAVING  CORPS. 

The  Volunteer  Fire  Department  of  ye  Olden  Time  —  How  Barnum's  Show 
Was  Interrupted  —  A  Comical  Incident  —  Indians  and  Red-Coats  at  a  Fire 
—  The  Bowery  B'hoys  —  Soap-Locks  —  The  School  of  Instruction  and  the 
Life-Saving  Corps  —  Daily  Drill  in  the  Use  of  Life-Saving  Appliances  — 
Wonderful  Feats  on  the  Scaling-Ladder  —  The  Jumping-Net  —  Thrilling 
Scenes  and  Incidents  —  The  Life-Line  Gun  —  Fire-Department  Horses  — 
Their  Training  —  A  Hospital  for  Sick  and  Injured  Horses  —  A  Night  Visit 
to  an  Engine-House  —  Keeping  up  Steam  —  Automatic  Apparatus  —  How 
Firemen  Sleep — Sliding  Down  the  Pole  —  The  Alarm  —  Fire!  Fire!  — 
A  Quick  Turn-Out  —  Intelligent  Horses  —  The  Fire-Alarm  System  — 
Answering  an  Alarm  in  Seven  Seconds  —  A  Thrilling  Sight —  Signal- 
Boxes  and  How  they  are  Used  —  The  Perils  of  a  Fireman's  Life,   526 


CHAPTEK  XXVIII. 

THE  CHINESE  QUARTER  OF  NEW  YORK  —  BEHIND  THE  SCENES 
IN  CHINATOWN—  "JOHN "  AND  HIS  CURIOUS  WAYS  — A 
NIGHT  VISIT  TO  AN  OPIUM  JOINT. 

The  Chinese  Junk  "  Key-Ying"  —  The  Heart  of  the  Chinese  Community  in 
New  York  —  A  Race  of  Gamblers  —  A  Trip  through  Chinatown  with 
a  Detective  —  A  Raid  on  a  Gambling-House  —  Spotting  the  Players  —  The 
Opium  Habit  —  A  Chinese  Drugstore  —  Marvelous  Remedies  —  A  Won- 
derful Bill  of  Fare  —  A  Visit  to  a  Joss-House  —  An  Opium  Smoker's 
"  Lay-Out  "  —  The  Value  of  an  Opium  Pipe  — A  Night  Visit  to  an  Opium- 
Joint  —  Carefully-Guarded  Doors  —  How  Admission  is  Gained  —  The 
Peep-Holc  —  Cunning  Celestials  —  Scenes  in  the  Smoking-Room  — Victims 
of  the  Opium  Habit  —  First  Experiences  at  Hitting  the  Pipe  —  A  Terrible 
Longing  —  A  Woman's  Experience — White  Opium  Fiends  —  Sickening 
Scenes — Aristocratic  Smokers  —  Cost  of  Opium  —  Spread  of  the  Opium 
Habit —  Solitary  Indulgence  in  the  Vice  —  Certain  Death  the  Result,  549 


CONTENTS.  31 

CHAPTER    XXIX. 

THE  SPIDER  AND  THE  FLY  — M()('K  AUCTIONS,    BOGUS   HORSE 
SALES  AND  OTHER  TRAPS  FOR  THE  ON  WARY  —  PERSONAL 

EXPERIENCES. 

Ingenious  Lawyers —  Swindling  Advertisements —  Mock  Auctions— My  Own 
Experience  —  Mr.  Barmore's  Purchases  — Socks  "By  the  Dozen"— A 
Stool-Pigeon  —  The  Merchant  from  Trenton  —  I  am  Trapped  —  A  Sudden 
Cessation  of  Business  —  Putting  it  down  to  Experience  —  Perennial  Buyers 

—  What  "By  the  Dozen  "  Means —  A  Mean  Swindle  —  Easily  Taken  in  — 
Base  Counterfeits  —  Bogus  Horse-Dealers  —  The  Gentleman  "Just  Going 
to  Europe"  —  A  "  Private  Stable"  —  A  Considerate  Horse-Owner  —  Busi- 
ness-Like Methods — A  Breathless  Stranger  Arrives  on  the  Scene — "An- 
derson of  New  Haven"  —  A  Chance  to  Make  Fifty  Dollars  in  Five  Minutes 

—  A  Warm  Discussion  —  A  "Doctored"  Horse  —  A  Trusty  Groom — A 
Critical  Inspection  —  Arrival  of  Mr.  Wakeman — "Dr.  Bryan's"  O Hue — 
"Just  Around  the  Corner"  —  Looking  for  the  Doctor  —  Tears  and 
Smiles. 574 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  BEGGARS  OF  NEW  YORK  —  TRAMPS,  CHEATS,  HUMBUGS, 
AND  FRAUDS  — INTERESTING  PERSONAL  EXPERIENCES  — 
VICTIMS   FROM  THE  COUNTRY. 

The  Incomes  of  Professional  Beggars  —  Resorts  of  Tramps  —  Plausible  Tales 

—  A  Scotch  Fraud  —  My  Adventure  with  him  —  A  Plaintive  Appeal  — 
A  Transparent  Yarn  —  A  Disconcerted  Swindler — Claiming  Relationship 

—  An  Embarrassing  Position  —  Starting  to  Walk  to  Boston  —  A  Stricken 
Conscience  —  Helping  my  Poor  Relation  —  Thanks  an  Inch  Thick  —  Fe- 
male Frauds — "Gentlemen  Tramps"  —  A  Famishing  Man  —  Eating 
Crusts  out  of  the  Gutter  —  A  Tale  of  Woe  —  A  Fraud  with  a  Crushed  Leg 
and  a  Starving  Family  —  A  Distressing  Case  —  The  Biter  Bitten  —  The 
Californian  with  a  Wooden  Leg  —  The  Rattle-Snake  Dodge  —  "Old 
Aunty  "  and  her  Methods —  "  God  Bless  You,  Deary  "  —  Blind  Frauds  and 
Humbugs  —  Easily  Taken  in  —  My  Experience  with  a  Bunco-Steerer,  58-4 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

UP  THE  SPOUT"  — PAWN-BROKERS  AND  THEIR  WAYS  — A 
VISIT  TO  THE  SHOP  OF  "MY  UNCLE"  — PERSONAL  EXPE- 
RIENCES. 

My  Uncle"  — A  Cold-Blooded  Friendship  —  Royal  Pawners  — Buried  Treas- 
ure—  A  Sharp  Lot  —  Slang  of  the  Trade  —  Putting  a  Watch  "in  Soak  " — 
The  Three  Gold  Balls  of  the  Pawnbroker's  Sign  —  An  Anxious  Customer 
— A  Cautious  Tradesman  —  How  a  Sharper  Got  the  Better  of  his  "  Uncle  " 
—  The  "Office"  —  A  Heart-Hardening  Trade  —  Making  a  Raise  —  How  I 
Pawned  my  Watch  —  A  Friend  in  Need  —  Simon's  Indignation  —  A  Sud- 
den Fall  in  Values  —  Suspected  of  Knavery  —  Pawning  Stolen  Goods  — 
Police  Regulations  — Selling  Unredeemed  Pledges — What  the  "Spout  "  is 
—"Hanging  Up  "— One  Way  of  Selling  Goods  — Fraudulent  Pawning  — 
Tales  that  Pledges  Might  Unfold  — From  Affluence  to  the  Potter's  Field- 
Drink  the  Mainspring  of  the  Pawnbroker's  Success, 603 


32  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEE  XXXII. 

STREET  VENDERS  AND  SIDEWALK  MERCHANTS  —  HOW  SKIN 
GAMES  AND  PETTY  SWINDLES  ARE  PLAYED  — "  BEATIN' 
THE  ANGELS  FOR    LYIN\" 

Dirty  Jake  —  A  Silent  Appeal  —  A  Melancholy  Face  —  Three  Dollars  a  Day 
for  Lungs  and  Tongue  —  Stickfast's  Glue  —  A  Windy  Trade  —  A  Couple 
of  Rogues  —  Spreading  Dismay  and  Consternation  —  Partners  in  Sin  — 
Sly  Confederates  in  the  Crowd  —  How  to  Sell  Kindling- Wood  —  A  Mean 
Trick  and  How  it  is  Played  —  A  Skin  Game  in  Soap  —  Frail  Human 
Nature  —  Petty  Swindles  —  Drawing  a  Crowd  —  "The  Great  Chain- 
Lightnin'  Double-Refined,  Centennial,  Night-Bloomin'  Serious  Soap "  — 
Spoiling  Thirteen  Thousand  Coats  —  The  Patent  Grease -Eradicator  — 
Inspiring  Confidence  —  ' '  Beatin'  the  Angels  for  Lyin' "  —  A  Sleight  of 
Hand  Performance  —  ' '  They  Looks  Well,  an'  They're  Cheap,     .     614 


CHAPTEE  XXXIII. 

GAMBLERS  AND  GAMBLING  — A  MIDNIGHT  VISIT  TO  GAMBLING- 
HOUSES  OF  HIGH  AND  LOW  DEGREE  — A  GLIMPSE  BEHIND 

THE  SCENES. 

A  Flourishing  Evil  —  A  Night  Visit  to  a  Fashionable  Gambling-House  —  How 
Entrance  is  Gained  —  "All  Right,  Charley" — Magnificent  Midnight  Sup- 
pers —  Midnight  Scenes  —  Who  Pays  the  Bills  ?  —  A  Secret  Understanding 
—  One  Hundred  and  Eighteen  Thousand  Dollars  Lost  in  Eight  Hours  — 
Dissipating  a  Fortune  —  Buried  in  a  Pauper's  Grave — "  Square"  Games 
and  ' '  Skin  "  Games  —  Fleecing  a  Victim  at  Faro  —  How  it  is  Done  — Inge- 
nuity of  Sharpers  —  Drugged  and  Robbed  —  "  Dead  Men  Tell  no  Tales  "  — 
A  Tale  that  the  Rivers  Might  Unfold  —  A  Club-House  with  Unknown 
Members  —  The  Downfall  of  Hundreds  of  Young  Men  —  Why  Employers 
are  Robbed  —  An  Interesting  Photograph  —  A  "  Full  Night  "  — Gambling- 
Houses  for  Boys  —  Confidence  Men — "Sleepers"  —  Low  Gambling- 
Houses —  "Lookouts"  —  "Every  Man  for  Himself," 628 


PART  III. 


Chief  of  the  New  York  Detective  Bureau. 


CHAPTER    XXXIY. 

LOW  LODGING-HOUSES  OF  NEW  YORK -PLACES  THAT  FOSTER 
CRIME  AND  HARBOR  CRIMINALS  —  DENS  OF  THIEVES. 

The  Breeding-Places  of  Crime  —  Dens  of  Thieves  —  How  Boys  and  Young 
Men  from  the  Country  are  Lured  to  Ruin  —  From  the  Lodging-House  to 
the  Gallows  —  A  Night's  Lodging  for  Three  Cents  —  Low,  Dirty,  and 
Troublesome  Places — Hotbeds  of  Crime — Leaves  from  my  own  Experience 

—  Illustrative  Cases  — A  Forger's  Crime  and  its  Results  — A  Unique 
Photograph  —  The  Pride  of  a  Bowery  Tough — "Holding  up"  a  Victim 

—  The  Importation  of  Foreign  Criminals  —  A  Human  Ghoul  —  How  Ex- 
Convicts  Drift  back  into  Crime  —  The  Descent  into  the  Pit  —  Black 
Sheep, 645 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

SCIENTIFIC  BURGLARS  AND  EXPERT  CRACKSMEN  — HOW  BANK- 
VAULTS  AND  SAFES  ARE  OPENED  AND  ROBBED  —  THE 
TOOLS,  PLANS,  OPERATIONS,  AND  LEADERS  OF  HIGHLY- 
BRED  CRIMINALS. 

An  Important  Profession  —  Highly-Bred  Rogues  — The  Lower  Ranks  of  Thieves 
—  Professional  Bank-Burglars  and  their  Talents  —  Misspent  Years — A 
Startling  Statement  about  Safes  —  The  Race  between  Burglars  and  Safe- 
builders  —  How  Safes  are  Opened  — Mysteries  of  the  Craft  —  Safe-Blow- 
ing—  How  Combination  Locks  are  Picked  —  A  Delicate  Touch  —  Throw- 
ing Detectives  off  the  Scent  —  A  Mystery  for  Fifteen  Years  —  Leaders  of 
Gangs  —  Conspiring  to  Rob  a  Bank — Working  from  an  Adjoining  Build- 
ing—  Disarming  Suspicion  —  Shadowing  Bank  Officers  — Working  through 
the  Cashier  —  Making  False  and  Duplicate  Keys  —  The  Use  of  High  Ex- 
plosives—  Safe-Breakers  and  their  Tools — Ingenious  Methods  of  Expert 
Criminals  —  Opening  a  Safe  in  Twenty  Minutes  —  Fagin  and  his  Pupils  — 
Taking  Impressions  of  Store  Locks  in  Wax— Teaching  Young  Thieves,  OoT 

(33) 


34  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEK    XXXVI. 

BANK  SNEAK-THIEVES  AND  THEIR  CHARACTERISTICS  —  PLOTS 
AND  SCHEMES  FOR  ROBBING  MONEYED  INSTITUTIONS  — A 
DARING  LOT   OF  ROGUES. 

Characteristics  of  Bank  Sneak-Thieves  —  Rogues  of  Education  and  Pleasing 
Address — Nervy  Criminals  of  Unlimited  Cheek  —  How  Bank  Thieves 
Work  —  Some  of  their  Exploits  —  Carefully  Laid  Plots  —  Extraordinary 
Attention  to  Details  —  A  Laughable  Story  —  A  Wily  Map-Peddler  — 
Escaping  with  Twenty  Thousand  Dollars  —  A  New  Clerk  in  a  Bank  — 
Watching  for  Chances  —  A  Decidedly  Cool  Thief  —  A  Mysterious  Loss 
—  A  Good  Impersonator  —  Watching  a  Venerable  Coupon-Cutter  —  Story 
of  a  Tin  Box  —  Mysterious  Loss  of  a  Bundle  of  Bonds  —  How  the  Loss 
was  Discovered  Three  Months  Afterwards — An  Astonished  Old  Gentle- 
man—  A  Clerk  in  an  Ink-Bedabbled  Duster — How  the  Game  is  Worked 
in  Country  Banks  —  Unsuspecting  Cashiers  —  Adroit  Rogues,      .     672 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

COMMON  HOUSEBREAKERS  —  THIEVES  WHO  LAUGH  AT  LOCKS 
AND  BOLTS  —  RECEIVERS  OF  STOLEN  GOODS  —  HOW  A 
"FENCE"  IS  CONDUCTED. 

Useless  Locks  and  Bolts  —  The  Sneak-Thief  and  His  Methods  —  Masks  on 
Their  Faces  and  Murder  in  Their  Hearts  —  Faithless  Servants  —  Fright- 
ened Sleepers  —  Criminals  but  Cowards  —  Scared  Away  by  Rats  —  Dog- 
ging Their  Victims  Home  —  Thefts  of  Diamonds  —  Second-Story  Thieves 
—  Pillaging  Houses  During  the  Supper  Hour  —  Ranks  in  Crime  — 
Hotel  and  Boarding-House  Thieves  —  Unsuspecting  Prey  —  A  Hotel 
Thief's  Tools  and  Methods  —  A  Man  Who  Laughs  at  Bolts  and  Bars  — 
A  Bewildering  Mystery  —  Manipulating  a  Thumb-Bolt  —  Watching  the 
Hotel  Register  —  Disastrous  Female  Vanity  —  Why  the  Boarder  did  not 
go  Down  to  Dinner  —  Prompt  to  Escape  but  Hard  to  Track  —  How 
Stolen  Property  is  Disposed  of  —  Receivers  or  "Fences,"  .     .     .    679 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  ROGUES'  GALLERY  — WHY  THIEVES  ARE  PHOTOGRAPHED 
—  TELL-TALE  SIGNS  —  PECULIARITIES  OF  CRIMINALS. 

"Where  Have  I  Seen  That  Man  Before?"  — Who  is  it?  — A  Sudden  Look 
of  Recognition  —  A  Notorious  Burglar  in  Fashion's  Throng  —  A  Swell- 
Cracksman —  The  Rogues'  Gallery  —  Its  Object  and  its  Usefulness  — 
How  Criminals  Try  to  Cheat  the  Camera  —  How  Detectives  Recognize 
Their  Prey  —  Ineffaceable  Tell-Taie  Signs  —  The  Art  of  Deception  — 
Human  Vanity  Before  the  Camera  —  Slovenly  Criminals  —  Flash  Crimi- 
nals —  The  Weaknesses  of  Criminals  —  Leading  Double  Lives  —  A  Strange 
Fact  —  Criminals  Who  are  Model  Husbands  and  Fathers  at  Home  — 
Some  Good  Traits  in  Criminals  —  Mistaken  Identity — Peculiarities  of 
Dress  —  A  Mean  Sqoundrel  —  Picking  Pockets  at  Wakes  and  Funerals  —  A 
Solemn  Looking  Pair  of  Rascals  —  The  Lowest  Type  of  Criminals.  689 


CONTENTS.  35 

CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

CUNNING  SHOPLIFTERS  AND  SKILLFUL  PICKPOCKETS— FEMALE 
OPERATORS  AND  HOW  THEY  WORK— YIELDING  TO  SUD- 
DEN TEMPTATIONS. 

A  Congenial  Crime  for  Women  —  An  Open  Field  for  the  Shoplifter— The 
Shoplifter's  Dress  and  its  .Many  Pockets — A  Detective's  Ruse  — Working 
with  a  Confederate— Kleptomaniacs  — Conscience  Stifled  by  Cupidity  — 

Detection,  and  its  Results— An  Adroit  Thief  and  his  Wonderful  Bag  — 
Working  in  Gangs — Swallowing  Gems — Pickpockets  and  their  RovingS 
—  Personal  Appearance  of  Pickpockets  —  How  a  Woman  lay  Concealed 
for  Years  —  Working  under  a  Shawl  or  Overcoat  —The  Use  of  the  Knife  — 
An  Overcoat  without  Pockets  —  Robberies  at  Churches  and  Funerals  — 
"  Working"  Horse-Cars  and  Railroad  Trains  —  Quarrels  among  Thieve-  — 
How  a  Victim  Betrays  Himself  to  the  Gang  —  "  Working  a  Crowd  "  —  A 
Delicate  Touch  —  Signals  between  Confederates  —  Stealing  Watches,  698 


CHAPTER    XL. 

FORGERS  AND  THEIR  METHODS  — WILY  DEVICES  AND  BRAINY 
SCHEMES  OF  A  DANGEROUS  CLASS  — TRICKS  ON  BANKS  — 
HOW  BUSINESS  MEN  ARE  DEFRAUDED. 

A  Crime  That  is  Easily  Perpetrated,  and  Detected  with  Difficulty  —  Pro- 
fessional Forgers  —  5len  of  Brains  —  Secret  Workshops  —  Raising  Checks 

—  A  Forger's  Agents   and  Go-betweens  —  The  Organization    of  a  Gang 

—  How  They  Cover  Their  Tracks  —  In  the  Clutches  of  Sharpers  —  The 
First  Step  in  Crime — Various  Methods  of  Passing  Forged  Paper  — 
Paving  the  Way  for  an  Operation  —  Dangerous  Schemes  —  Daring  and 
Clever  Forgeries  —  Interesting  Cases  —  How  Banks  are  Defrauded  —  Es- 
tablishing Confidence  with  a  Bank  —  A  Smart  Gang  —  Altering  and  Rais- 
ing Checks  and  Drafts  —  How  Storekeepers  and  "Business  Men  are  De- 
frauded—  Cashing  a  Burnt  Check  —  Crafty  and  Audacious  Forgers  — 
A  Great  Plot  Frustrated  —  Deceiving  the  Head  of  a  Foreign  Detective 
Bureau  — A  Remarkable  Story  —  Startling  and  Unexpected  News,    711 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

FRAUDS  EXPOSED  —  ACCOMPLISHED  ADVENTURERS  AND 
FASHIONABLE  ADVENTURESSES —  PEOPLE  WHO  LIVE  BY 
THEIR  WITS  — GETTING  A  LIVING  BY  HOOK  OR  BY  CROOK. 

Human  Harpies — Confiding  Boarders  —  Relieving  a  Pretty  Woman's  Em- 
barrassment—The Tables  Turned  —  A  Fashionable  and  Accomplished 
Adventuress  —  Swindlers  in  Society  —  Ingenious  Money-Making  Schemes 

—  "Engineering  Beggars"  —  Plying  a  Miserable  Trade — "Hushing  it 
up  for  His  Familv's  Sake"  —  Literary  Blackmail  —  Practising  upon 
Human  Vanity — Matrimonial  Advertising — A  Matrimonial  Bureau  and 
its  Victims  —  Bogus  Detectives  — A  Mean  and  Contemptible  Lot  —  Run- 
ning with  the  Hare  and  Hunting  with  the -Hounds  —  Getting  a  Living 
by  Hook  or  by  Crook — Shyster  Lawyers  —  Quack  Doctors  Who  "  Cure 
All    Diseases"  —  The    Heraldic    Swindler — Free-Lunchers   and    Floaters 

—  Fortune-Tellers  and  Clairvoyants  —  Transparent  Stratagems,    .     721 


36  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XLIL 

SHARPERS,  CONFIDENCE-MEN  AND  BUNCO-STEERERS  —  WIDE 
OPEN  TRAPS  — TRICKS  OF  "SAWDUST"  AND  "GREEN- 
GOODS"    DEALERS. 

The  Bunco-Steerer's  Victims  —  Glib  Talkers  and  Shrewd  Thieves  —  Watching 
Incoming  Trains  and  Steamers  —  Accomplished  Swindlers  —  Personal 
Appearance  of  a  Confidence  Gang  —  Robbing  the  Same  Man  Twice  — 
Headquarters  of  Bunco  Men  —  Plausible  Stories  —  Different  Forms  of 
Bunco  Games  —  A  Noted  Bunco  Operator  —  Hungry  Joe  and  his  Victims 
—  How  a  Confiding  Englishman  was  Robbed  —  The  Three  Card  Trick  — 
Arrest  of  "  Captain  Murphy's  Nephew"  —  A  Game  of  Bluff—  Swindling 
an  Episcopal  Clergyman  —  Pumping  a  Victim  Dry  —  Working  the  Panel- 
Game  —  A  Green-Goods  Man's  Circular  —  The  Spider's  Instructions  to  the 
Fly  —  Seeking  a  Personal  Interview  —  Victims  from  the  Rural  Districts  — 
The  Supreme  Moment  of  the  Game  —  Seeing  the  Victim  off  —  Moral,  728 


Engraved  trom  a  teceiu  photograph,  expresslg  for  this  work. 


t3<A 


ByI^vtLti^Ibbot'fBJ] 


*  ^ 


THE  problem  of  the  great  city  is  the  problem  of  modern 
civilization.  It  was  brought  to  the  attention  of  the 
thoughtful  in  1851  by  Henry  Mayhew's  "London  and  the 
London  Poor'' ;  interest  in  it  was  revived  a  few  years  ago  by 
the  brief  but  suggestive  little  monograph  "The  Bitter  Cry  of 
Outcast  London "  ;  reawakened  in  1890  by  Gen.  Booth's  "  In 
Darkest  England  and  the  Way  Out";  and  further  invaluable 
material  for  its  study  is  furnished  by  Charles  Booth's  "Labor 
and  Life  of  the  People,"  still  in  course  of  publication  ;  and  on 
this  side  of  the  water  by  Jacob  KnYs  life-like  study  entitled 
"  How  the  Other  Half  Lives."  The  present  volume  is  in  a 
noble  succession  and  worthy  of  the  literary  class  to  which  it 
belongs.  Though  not  the  first,  it  is  the  most  comprehensive 
picture  of  Xew  York  city  with  which  I  am  acquainted  ;  it  is 
furnished  by  experts  who  Know  whereof  they  write,  and  who 
verify  their  graphic  accounts  by  the  indisputable  evidence  of 
the  photograph.  I  am  glad  to  be  permitted  to  recommend  it 
to  American  readers.  For  over  a  third  of  a  century  the  sub- 
ject of  this  book  has  been  one  of  the  subjects  of  my  study— 
sometimes  in  literature,  sometimes  in  life.  The  realism  of  this 
volume  needs  no  endorsement.  If  there  were  such  need  it 
should  certainly  have  mine. 

Mr.  Loomis,  in  his  admirable  monograph,  "Modern  Cities 
and    their  Religious  Problems,"1  has  brought  together  com- 


1  Modern  Cities  and  their  Religious  Problems,  by  Samuel  Lane  Loomis, 
see  Chapter  I. 

3  .37. 


38        DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

pactly  some  startling  figures  upon  this  subject.  In  1790,  one- 
thirtieth  of  our  population  lived  in  cities  of  over  eight  thousand 
inhabitants ;  in  1870,  nearly  or  quite  one-fourth.  The  growth 
has  been  as  remarkable  in  other  countries  as  in  ours.  Three 
hundred  and  fifty  more  persons  sleep  in  London  every  night 
than  the  night  before.  Macaulay  is  said  to  have  walked 
through  e^ery  street  of  London;  to-day  this  would  involve  a 
tramp  of  twenty-five  hundred  miles.  The  London  of  1836 
had  not  so  large  a  population  as  is  contained  in  the  combined 
cities  of  New  York,  Brooklyn,  and  Jersey  City.  The  London 
of  to-day  possesses  a  population  equal  to  the  combined  popula- 
tions of  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Brooklyn,  Chicago,  Boston, 
St.  Louis,  Baltimore,  Cincinnati,  and  San  Francisco.  Glasgow 
has  increased  more  rapidly  than  Chicago.  In  Belgium,  Den- 
mark, and  Germany  the  growth  of  population  in  the  cities  has 
been  twice  as  great  as  that  of  the  rural  districts ;  in  Sweden 
and  Russia  four  times  as  great ;  in  Norway  ten  times.  In 
thirty  years  Berlin  has  more  than  doubled  her  population.  To 
Paris,  as  to  New  York,  fifty  thousand  souls  are  added  every 
year. 

In  our  own  country  the  growth  of  perils  has  kept  pace  with 
the  growth  of  the  population.  In  our  great  cities,  poverty, 
ignorance,  intemperance,  and  crime,  the  four  great  enemies  of 
Republican  institutions,  thrive  in  frightfully  over-crowded  dis- 
tricts. There  are  wards  in  New  York  city  in  which  the 
population  is  so  dense  that  there  are  less  square  feet  of  the 
earth's  surface  for  every  man,  woman,  and  child  than  is  allowed 
therefor  in  the  most  crowded  graveyard  in  the  country.  The 
saloons  are  many  and  are  increasing;  the  churches  are  few 
and,  relatively  to  the  population,  decreasing.  In  1880  there 
was  in  Boston  one  saloon  to  every  329  of  the  population — men, 
women,  and  children  ;  in  Chicago,  one  to  every  179 ;  in  New 
York,  one  to  every  171 ;  in  Cincinnati,  one  to  every  124.  On 
the  other  hand,  in  Boston,  one  church  to  every  1,600  of  the 
population  ;  in  Chicago,  one  to  every  2,081 ;  in  New  York,  one 
to    every    2,468.      There   are   wards   in   Brooklyn,    "city    of 


INTRODUCTION.  39 

churches,"  in  which,  counting  all  places  of  worship,  Protestant, 

Roman  Catholic,  and  Jewish,  there  is  not  one  church  for  every 
5,000  of  the  population.  In  many  instances  these  churches  are 
not  more  than  half  full,  and  then  only  for  one  service  on  Sun 
day.  Of  the  alleged  tendency  of  foreign  immigrants  to  crowd 
into  our  great  cities^  I  do  not  speak,  because  I  am  not  sure  that 
the  tendency  exists  or  that  it  is  evil  if  it  does  exist.  There 
are  rural  districts  in  the  West  which  are  as  truly  given  over  to 
foreign  occupation  as  any  wards  in  our  great  cities,  and  many 
of  our  citizens,  foreign  born  or  born  of  foreign  parents,  are  as 
industrious,  temperate,  virtuous,  and  every  way  as  valuable 
members  of  the  community  as  those  who  boast  a  Puritan 
lineage. 

In  the  cities  great  fortunes  are  made.  Therefore  greed 
and  enterprise,  —  a  vice  and  a  virtue  which  often  go  together, 
—  draw  the  young  men  of  energy  and  acquisitiveness  cityward. 
In  the  cities  are  to  be  found  the  men  of  noblest  ambition 
and  the  men  of  insanest  passion  for  money -making.  Every 
city  is  a  gambling  center;  and  the  gambling  devil  is  as  dan- 
gerous as  the  drink  devil.  Misery  loves  company.  The  poor 
flock  to  the  great  city,  partly  because  it  offers  delusive  prom- 
ises of  employment  to  those  who  Avish  for  work,  and  endless 
opportunities  for  beggary  and  crime  to  those  who  wish  to 
live  on  their  neighbors;  partly  because  it  affords  companion- 
ship to  those  who  have  no  resources  in  themselves  and  who 
find  no  company  so  distasteful  as  their  own  barren  souls. 
"  Wheresoever  the  carcass  is,  there  the  vultures  will  be 
gathered  together."  The  city  is  the  natural  gathering  place 
of  all  the  carrion  birds.  Thus  the  city  presents  in  microcosm 
all  the  contrasts  of  our  modern  life,  —  its  worst  and  its  best 
aspects.  Here  are  the  broad  avenues,  and  here  the  narrow 
lanes;  here  the  beautiful  parks  where  landscape  gardening 
has  done  its  best,  and  here  the  fetid  streets  whose  festering 
filth  pollutes  the  atmosphere ;  here  palaces  on  which  selfish 
extravagance  has  lavished  every  artifice  for  luxury  and  dis- 
play, and   here  tenements  where,  in  defiance  of  every  law, 


40         DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

moral  and  sanitary,  men,  women,  and  children  are  crowded 
together  like  maggots  in  a  cheese.  Here  are  the  greatest 
universities,  equipping  men  for  the  noblest  intellectual  work, 
and  here  the  grossest  illiteracy  and  the  most  absolute  igno- 
rance of  the  simplest  and  plainest  laws  of  life.  Here  the 
greatest  churches  and  here  the  most  garish  saloons,  nightly 
the  scenes  of  debauchery  and  vice,  frequently  of  dread- 
ful crime.  Here  are  the  noblest  men  and  women  put- 
ting forth  the  most  consecrated  energies  in  self-sacrificing 
labors  for  the  redemption  of  their  fellow-men,  appalled,  but 
not  discouraged,  by  the  immensity  of  the  problem  which 
confronts  them;  and  here  the  most  hopeless  specimens  of 
degraded  humanity,  in  whom,  so  far  as  human  sight  can  see, 
the  last  spark  of  divinity  has  been  quenched  forever.  What 
shall  we  do  with  our  great  cities  \  What  will  our  great  cities 
do  with  us?  These  are  the  two  problems  which  confront 
every  thoughtful  American. 

For  the  question  involved  in  these  two  questions  does  not 
concern  the  city  alone.  The  whole  country  is  affected,  if 
indeed  its  character  and  history  are  not  determined,  by  the 
condition  of  its  great  cities.  Eome  has  made  Italy,  Paris 
France,  Berlin  Germany,  St.  Petersburg  Russia,  London 
England ;  and  Boston,  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Chicago, 
Cincinnati,  St.  Louis,  San  Francisco,  and  New  Orleans  are 
making  the  United  States.  The  excessive  religiousness  of 
Rome  has  dominated  Italy  with  the  spirit  of  a  too  credulous 
faith  and  a  too  unenterprising  submission.  The  barbaric 
splendor  and  bureaucratic  paternalism  centering  in  St.  Peters- 
burg has  paralyzed  Russia,  that  overgrown  babe  too  long 
kept  in  swaddling  clothes.  The  cold  intellectualism  of  Berlin 
has  pervaded  Germany  with  an  unemotional  and  unspiritual 
but  intellectual  life.  The  sensual  gaiety  of  Paris  has  cor- 
rupted France,  undermining  alike  its  political  and  its  religious 
institutions.  The  surviving  brutalism  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
race,  re-appear*ing  in  bestial  forms  in  London,  affords  a 
metropolitan  example   for   many  a  smaller   town   to   follow. 


INTRODUCTION.  41 

And  every  American  will  recognize  that  in  Boston  lie  g 
the  spirit  of  New  England,  in  New  Orleans  thai  <>f  Louisiana, 
and  in  Chicago  that  of  the  growing  West.  The  political 
influences  exerted  by  these  cities  often  over-balance  the  rot 
of  the  state  and  determine  the  political  action  even  of  the 
nation.  The  crimes  which  occasionally  terrify  the  residents 
in  rural  villages  and  smaller  towns  are  planned  and  perpe- 
trated by  skilled  professionals,  educated  in  the  nearest  great 
city;  the  gambling  mania  developed  in  its  markets  and 
exchanges  is  by  the  telegraphic  wire  carried  to  every  part 
of  the  country  with  the  rapidity  with  which  the  nerve 
flashes  intelligence  from  the  brain  to  the  finger.  The  cities 
are  kept  alive  by  the  immigration  from  the  rural  districts. 
They  become  schools  in  vice  or  virtue  for  hundreds  of  young- 
men  and  women  who  go  up  year  by  year  from  their  country 
homes  to  the  great  cities  in  quest  of  a  greater  success  than 
the  farm  or  the  village  store  promises  them.  To  make  a 
fortune  or  to  mar  a  character?  That  depends  upon  the 
associations  they  form,  the  atmosphere  they  breathe,  the  life 
in  which  they  are  immersed  in  the  bright,  beautiful,  but  awful 
city.  There  is  not  a  father  or  mother  in  America  who  has 
not  reason  to  feel  a  strong  personal  interest  in  the  conditions 
and  character  of  the  city  which  this  book  describes. 

And  yet  the  picture  is  not  all  a  dark  one.  Another  volume 
as  large,  thought  not  as  dramatic  as  this,  might  be  written  on 
the  benevolent  influences  in  our  great  cities  for  the  redemption 
of  the  erring  and  the  sinful.  In  the  early  history  of  Christen- 
dom the  great  cities  were  the  gathering  places  of  the  first 
Christian  churches.  The  pagans,  —  that  is,  pagam  i,  —  were  the 
country  men  or  villagers;  the  heathen  were  the  heath  dwellers. 
Later  it  was  from  the  towns  and  cities  that  the  Benedictines 
went  forth,  carrying  with  them  the  seeds  of  an  improved  civ- 
ilization, in  better  education  for  the  common  people,  and  in 
improvements  in  every  art  which  concerned  the  common  wel- 
fare. In  England,  in  the  days  of  Simon  de  Montfort,  it  was  in 
the   cities   that   the   Franciscans  carried  on   their  missionarv 


42 


DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT  IN  NEW  YORK. 


work,  and  all  unwittingly  prepared  the  way  for  the  English 
Reformation.  The  cities  furnished  Cromwell's  army  with  his 
recruits,  —  his  tapsters  and  serving  men.  The  towns  and  cities 
were  the  centers  of  the  great  Methodist  revival.  And  to-day 
it  is  to  the  cities  that  country  parishes  appeal  and  Western  col- 
lege presidents  come  for  means  to  carry  on  the  religious  and 
educational  work  of  the  smaller  towns  and  the  rural  districts. 
The  city  is  not  all  bad  nor  all  good.  It  is  humanity  com- 
pressed, the  best  and  the  worst  combined,  in  a  strangely  com- 
posite community. 

Mr.  Charles  Booth  —  not  to  be  confounded  with  Gen. 
Booth,  the  founder  and  leader  of  the  Salvation  Army  —  began 
in  1886  a  careful,  scientific  study  of  the  city  of  London,  espe- 
cially the  East  End,  and  has  published  in  part  the  result  of 
these  investigations  in  three  volumes  entitled,  "  Labor  and  Life 
of  the  People."  His  volume  is  not  like  the  present  one, 
graphic  and  pictorial,  though  illustrative  incidents  are  not 
wanting ;  it  is  chiefly  scientific  and  statistical.  As  the  result  of 
this  investigation,  he  divided  the  people  of  London  into  eight 
classes,  distinguished  by  the  letters  from  A  to  H,  as  follows :  — 


POPULATION. 

A. 

The  lowest  class  of  occasional  laborers,  loafers, 

and  semi-criminals,       .         . 

1.2 

per  cent 

B. 

Casual  earnings,  very  poor,       .        .        . 

11.2 

' 

C. 

Poor  —  Intermittent  earnings,    .... 

8.3 

* 

D. 

"        Small  regular  earnings, 

14.5 

< 

E. 

Fairly  Comfortable  —  Regular  stated  earnings, 

42,3 

i 

F. 

"               "                Higher  class  labor, 

13.6 

i 

G. 

Lower  Middle  class,    .        .        ."•'■. 

3.9 

i 

II. 

Upper  Middle  class, 

5.0 

e 

In  considering  what  duties  are  imposed  upon  us  by  the  con- 
dition of  our  great  cities,  what  remedies  are  possible  for  their 
vice  and  crime,  what  protection  possible  against  the  perils  with 
which  they  threaten  our  commonwealth,  Mr.  Booth's  careful 
scientific  survey  of  London  may  serve  us  a  useful  purpose. 
We  cannot,  indeed,  assume  that  the  conditions  in  London  are 
like  those  in  New  York.    The  proportion  between  the  different 


INTRODUCTION. 

classes  is  probably  different  in  every  different  city,  and  almost 
certain  to  be  in  New  York  other  than  it  is  in  London.  No 
such  careful  study  of  New  York  city  has  yet  been  made,  and 
the  census  statistics  are  somewhat  uncertain,  if  not  absolutely 
untrustworthy.  Yet  those  best  acquainted  with  the  conditions 
of  life  in  New  York  estimate  that  at  least  one-tenth  of  the 
population  of  that  city  belong  to  the  dependent,  that  is,  to  the 
pauper  and  criminal  class.  Mr.  Booth's  classification  may 
therefore  serve  our  purpose,  though  his  figures  may  not. 

The  problem  of  our  civilization  is  primarily  one  not  of  cure, 
but  of  prevention.  The  first  duty  of  both  the  State  and  the 
Church  is  to  study,  not  how  to  recover  the  pauper  and  the 
criminal,  but  how  to  prevent  the  poor  from  drifting  down  into 
the  pauper  and  criminal  class  ;  and  how  to  help  them  to  climb 
gradually  into  a  region  of  permanent  self-support  and  manly 
independence.  It  would  be  carrying  coals  to  Xewcastle  were 
I  to  attempt  to  add  to  this  graphic  volume  any  further  descrip- 
tion of  life  in  Xew  York  city,  but  I  shall  venture  to  offer  some 
suggestions  as  to  the  practical  remedy  for  the  evils  described 
and  the  duty  imposed  upon  all  men  and  women  of  a  humane 
spirit. 

These  remedies  are  of  two  kinds :  the  political  and  personal. 
As  to  the  distinctively  socialistic  remedies  this  is  not  the  place 
to  speak.  The  existence  of  poverty  and  crime  in  such  vast  pro- 
portions is  a  symptom  not  merely  of  individual  depravity,  but 
of  imperfect  social  organization.  Very  considerable  social  re- 
construction is  necessary  before  modern  society  can  be  truly 
called  Christian.  But  to  discuss  the  socialistic  questions  involved 
would  require  space  far  beyond  the  limits  of  such  an  introduc- 
tion as  this,  and  I  therefore  confine  myself  to  a  consideration 
of  those  remedies  which  may  be  put  in  operation  without  any 
radical  reconstruction  of  social  order  or  organization. 

I.  Political  Remedies. —  Mr.  Gladstone  has  well  said  that 
our  laws  ought  to  be  so  framed  as  to  make  virtue  easy  and 
crime  difficult.  In  our  criminal  laws  there  is  much  which 
makes  crime  easy  and  virtue  difficult.     Sydney  Smith  satirized 


44  DARKNESS  AND   DAYLIGHT  IN  NEW' YORK. 

the  jails  of  England  as  public  schools  maintained  at  great  ex- 
pense for  the  cultivation  of  crime  and  the  education  of  crimi- 
nals. That  satiric  but  sadly  true  description  has  been  in  print 
for  many  years,  and  yet  remains  true.  Our  institutions  for  the 
punishment  of  petty  crimes  are  admirably  adapted  to  convert 
the  first  not  very  guilty  offender  into  a  permanent  and  profes- 
sional criminal.  The  homeless  girl  in  our  great  cities,  under 
the  influence  of  evil  companions,  falls  into  vice  or  the  suspicion 
of  a  crime.  She  is  straightway  locked  up  in  the  same  guard- 
house with  criminals  of  the  other  sex  or  with  more  hardened 
criminals  of  her  own.  Only  recently,  and  after  a  hard  battle, 
has  the  legislature  of  New  York  reluctantly  enacted  a  law  pro- 
viding for  women  custodians  of  women  suspects  in  the  station 
houses  of  New  York  city.  A  woman  committed  to  the  peni- 
tentiary is  a  woman  disgraced ;  honorable  life  is  henceforth 
almost  impossible  for  her.  And  yet  the  judge,  knowing  this 
fact,  can  avoid  perpetrating  this  crime  against  womanhood, 
only  by  stretching  his  authority  to  its  utmost.  That  he  may 
not  do  this  great  wrong,  he  will  suspend  sentence  and  then 
tell  the  girl  before  him  that  unless  she  voluntarily  submits 
herself  to  the  custody  of  some  designated  philanthropic  institu- 
tion he  will  have  her  re-arrested  and  committed  on  the  charge 
preferred  against  her.  In  my  own  city  of  Brooklyn,  The  Way- 
side Home,  provided  by  Christian  women  as  a  means  of  pre- 
venting the  law  from  pushing  accidental  criminals  into  a  career 
of  permanent  crime,  has  with  difficulty  secured  a  charter,  and 
can  render  the  service  which  it  desires  to  render  only  by  suffer- 
ance of  the  law  through  this  exercise  of  judicial  discretion. 
Experts  have  long  demanded  reformatory  institutions  for  juve- 
nile criminals,  and  that  judicial  discretion  be  given  to  the  crim- 
inal judges  to  commit  criminals  under  a  specified  age  to  such 
reformatory  and  educational  institutions  as  Christian  philan- 
thropy may  provide  for  the  purpose.  A  little  has  been  accom- 
plished ;  a  great  deal  remains  unaccomplished. 

While  the  community  imposes  penal  sentences  of  too  great 
severity  in  the  case  of  unhardened  criminals,  it  imposes  absurdly 


fNTRODUl  WON.  L5 

short  sentences  upon  habitual  drunkards.  The  usual  term  for 
a  man  or  a  woman  arrested  for  disorderly  and  drunken  behavior 

in  the  street  is  ten  days.  It  barely  suffices  to  sober  the  habitue 
of  the  saloon  and  whet  the  appetite  for  a  new  debauch.  The 
convict  is  discharged  only  to  get  drunk  on  the  day  of  Ins 

release,  and  to  find  himself  on  the  following  morning  before 
the  magistrate,  awaiting  a  new  sentence.  "Rounders"  spend 
half  their  time  in  the  penitentiary,  housed  at  the  public  expense, 
and  the  other  half  in  drinking  and  debauchery  in  the  public 
streets.  All  students  of  criminal  law  are  agreed  that  this  crime- 
breeding  abuse  should  cease;  but  an  apathetic,  perhaps  igno- 
rant, legislature  thus  far  has  given  no  relief.  Every  person 
arrested  for  drunkenness  should  be  committed  to  an  asylum  lor 
a  term  sufficiently  long  to  make  a  radical  cure  of  his  inebriacy 
possible;  and  for  a  second  or  third  offense  the  committal  should 
be  until  competent  authorities  in  the  asylum  pronounce  a  cure 
effectual.  If  this  sometimes  involves  a  life  sentence,  what  then  \ 
It  is  a  folly,  which  Talleyrand  would  call  worse  than  a  crime, 
for  us  to  maintain,  at  public  expense,  police  courts  and  a  peniten- 
tiary, to  administer  a  system  of  miscalled  punishment,  which 
does  nothing  to  lessen  and  much  to  aggravate  the  public  offense 
and  the  public  cost  of  drunkenness. 

Every  man  who  walks  the  streets  of  a  great  city,  especially 
towai'ds  nightfall,  finds  himself  from  time  to  time  accosted  by 
some  vagrant  beggar.  Every  man  who  lives  in  a  great  city 
finds  his  door  besieged  by  a  procession  of  them.  Sometimes 
the  beggar  is  in  search  of  work;  oftener'of  a  lodging  for  the 
night ;  still  more  frequently  of  money  to  pay  his  passage  to 
some  other  city  where  he  has  friends  or  the  promise  of  a  job. 
He  is  usually  the  victim  ot  some  accident  or  disease  —  chronic 
rheumatism,  a  hacking  cough.  Frequently  he  has  just  been 
discharged  from  the  hospital.  Occasionally  he  carries  an  old 
greasy  testimonial.  He  used  to  be  an  old  soldier;  but  the  old 
soldier  has  now  disappeared.  If  he  really  has  met  with  some 
accident  and  has  a  wooden  leg.  or  a  disabled  hand,  he  is  excep- 
tionally equipped.     Sometimes  this  man  really  is  an  unfortu- 


46  DARKNESS   AND   DAYLIGHT   IN   NEW   YORK. 

nate,  without  ability  to  support  himself,  and  without  personal 
friends;  sometimes  he  is  a  criminal,  and  it  is  never  wise  to 
leave  him  alone  in  the  hall  if  there  are  overcoats  on  the  hat 
tree.  But  generally  he  is  a  vagrant  who  has  found  it  easier  to 
beg  than  to  dig,  and  who  is  on  his  downward  way  to  petty 
crime — or  worse.  On  a  cold  night  in  a  comfortable  home,  one 
is  reluctant  to  turn  such  an  applicant  away ;  but  to  give  him 
money  or  clothing  is  to  do  him  a  wrong,  because  it  adds  one 
more  impulse  to  his  vagrant  and  lazy  propensities.  Philan- 
thropic men  and  women  have  united  to  protect  the  community 
against  these  professional  vagrants.  The  Bureau  of  Charities 
receives  subscriptions  from  its  patrons  and  then  invites  them  to 
send  every  such  beggar  to  its  doors.  It  has  a  woodyard  and 
gives  to  the  man  a  job  by  which  he  can  earn  a  lodging  or  a 
breakfast.  It  has  a  laundry  for  the  employment  of  the  vagrant 
woman.  But  all  unfortunates  cannot  saw  wood  or  wash 
clothes.  Gen.  Booth  in  his  Salvation  Army  has  sketched  a 
larger  scheme  and  a  wiser  one.  To  the  woodyard  he  has 
added  the  workshop.  For  work  done  he  will  give  food  and 
shelter  to  every  tramp  who  applies.  For  admission  there  is 
but  one  condition  —  the  tramp  must  be  willing  to  do  any 
work  assigned  to  him.  Smoking,  drinking,  and  bad  language 
are  not  allowed  upon  the  premises.  The  willing  and  compe- 
tent worker  graduates  into  an  upper  class  where  he  receives 
small  wages  besides  food  and  shelter.  And  from  this  class  he 
graduates  into  independent  employment  which  the  Salvation 
Army  endeavors  to  find  for  him  as  soon  as  he  is  competent  to 
perform  it.  The  principle  of  the  Army  is,  —  Never  give  some- 
thing for  nothing.  To  do  this  is  to  rob  man  of  his  manhood. 
Gifts  that  pauperize  never  truly  relieve  poverty.  In  some 
future  day  the  state  will  do  by  laAv  what  Gen.  Booth  endeav- 
ors to  do  by  private  charity.  It  will  assist  the  vagrant  who 
cannot  support  himself ;  it  will  provide  him  with  food,  shelter, 
clothing,  and  work.  It  will  require  him,  if  he  is  able,  to  do  the 
Avork  in  payment  of  his  maintenance.  And  it  will  look  back 
with  amazement  upon  the  days  in  which  men  and  women  com- 


INTRODUCTION. 

mitted  petty  thefts  in  order  to  secure  the  privilege  of  being 
sent  to  jail  and  provided  with  the  necessaries  of  life,  which  the 

state  gives  to  the  criminal  but  not  to  the  honest  incompetent. 

We  are  just  beginning  to  Learn  that  self-interesl  is  not  a 
sufficient  protection  to  the  community.  It  is  not  safe  to  allow 
landlords  to  build  such  houses  as  they  can  rent,  or  tenants  to 
occupy  such  apartments  as  they  like.  Sanitary  laws  are 
already  in  existence  which  profess  to  regulate  the  condition  and 
character  of  tenement  houses.  But  the  appropriations  for  the 
Board  of  Health  in  New  York  city  are  ridiculously  inadequate 
and  the  number  of  its  inspectors  absurdly  small.  As  a  conse- 
quence, in  detiance  of  law,  unsanitary  tenements  still  exist. 
Avhere  the  tenants  are  deprived  of  air  and  light ;  and  bad  drain- 
age and  cheap  plumbing  combined  with  filthy  streets  and 
courts  make  breeding  places  for  public  pestilence.  In  London 
they  have  gone  further  and  done  better  than  we  have  in  demo- 
cratic America.  Unsanitary  tenements  have  been  torn  down, 
the  height  of  buildings  has  been  regulated  by  a  certain  fixed 
ratio  to  the  width  of  the  streets,  the  number  of  tenants  allowed 
to  a  given  number  of  cubic  feet  is  regulated  by  law  and  the 
violation  of  the  law  by  the  landlord  severely  punished.  Acres 
of  land  in  London  have  been  cleared  by  Act  of  Parliament,  and 
in  the  place  of  the  old  unsightly  and  unsanitary  tenements 
decent  dwellings  have  been  erected  by  private  capital.  But 
these  reforms  will  not  be  carried  out  in  Xew  York  city  until  the 
country  districts  awaken  to  their  righteousness  and  necessity. 
and  »'ive  to  the  over-crowded  wards  the  boon  which  their  ijnio- 
rant  population  are  not  intelligent  enough  to  ask  for.  As  I 
write  these  lines  a  movement  has  already  been  inaugurated  in 
New  York  city,  championed  by  one  of  its  leading  papers,  to 
secure  by  political  action  the  opening  of  parks  and  play-grounds 
in  the  more  densely  populated  wards  to  whose  children  the 
Centra]  Park  is  an  El  Dorado  too  distant  for  even  an  annual 
outing;  and  to  provide  reading  and  club  rooms  in  the  public 
schoolhouses  as  gathering  places  in  the  evening  for  the  boys 
and  young  men  who  have  now  no  other  meeting-place  than  the 


48        DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

saloon.  In  all  these  reforms  Whitechapel  (London)  has  already 
led  the  way.  The  free  library  started  by  private  benevolence 
has  been  assumed  by  the  district,  and,  by  a  popular  vote  of  four 
to  one,  made  a  public  charge ;  play-grounds  have  been  attached 
to  the  public  school  buildings  ;  and  the  buildings  themselves 
have  been  opened  for  club  purposes  in  the  evenings.  There  is 
no  reason  why  these  simple  reforms  should  not  be  carried  into 
effect  at  once  with  us,  except  that  under  our  system  of  local 
government,  the  wards  in  which  the  need  for  these  reforms  is 
the  greatest  are  the  wards  where  that  need  is  least  realized  and 
therefore  least  likely  to  be  supplied.  The  impulse  for  the 
reform  must  come  in  most  cases,  if  not  in  all,  from  without. 

II.  Personal  and  Philanthropic  Remedies.  —  Pev.  S.  A. 
Barnett,  the  founder  and  head  of  Toynbee  Hall,  in  an  article 
on  Whitechapel  in  the  Christian  Union,  has  pointed  out  the 
methods  by  which  a  considerable  measure  of  reform  has  been 
wrought  in  that  famous  district.  "  It  has  been,"  he  says,  "  by 
a  combination  of  official  and  voluntary  action.  Official  action 
has  a  tendency  to  become  narrow  and  hard ;  voluntary  action 
has  a  tendency  to  become  weak  and  uncertain.  Whitechapel 
reforms  have  been  initiated  and  are  still  inspired  by  the  hu- 
manity of  active  citizens,  but  they  have  the  authority  of  the 
public  sanction  and  the  stability  of  official  control." 

Law  may  punish  crime,  repress  disorder,  stop  up  some  of  the 
fountains  from  which  crime  and  disorder  flow,  do  something 
to  change  environment  and  ameliorate  conditions ;  but  it  can 
do  very  little  directly  for  moral  improvement  of  character, 
and  moral  improvement  of  character  is  fundamental.  This 
work  must  be  largely  voluntary.  It  must  be  done  by  those 
who  engage  in  it  inspired  by  faith  and  hope  and  love,  not  ap- 
pointed to  it  by  a  bureau  and  selected  for  it  from  political  con- 
siderations. In  this  field  of  philanthropic  effort  professionalism 
of  all  kinds  is  fatal.  Even  the  paid  agents  of  religious  societies 
cannot  save  as  a  substitute  for  volunteers.  Their  knowledge 
may  be  more  accurate  and  their  experience  larger,  but  their 
sympathies  will  be  less  vital,  and  they  will  always  labor  under 


INTRODUCTION.  }:» 

the  suspicion  which  attaches  to   paid   officials  of  every  de- 
scription. 

The  secret  of  success  in  all  personal  and  voluntary  work  for 
the  improvement  of  the  outcast  class,  or  of  those  who  are  in 
danger  of  falling  into  it,  is  personal  contact  with  men  and 
women  of  higher  nature.  This  was  the  method  of  Jesus;  he 
put  himself  in  personal  touch  with  the  men  and  women  whom 
he  sought  to  influence,  and  then  sent  out  to  a  wider  ministry 
those  who  had  received  inspiration  from  him,  to  impart  it  in 
turn  to  others.  It  is  the  herding  of  the  despairing  and  the 
criminal  together  which  makes  reform  almost  impossible. 
"By  herding  together,"  says  Mr.  Charles  Booth,  "both  the 
quarters  they  occupy  and  their  denizens  tend  to  get  worse;'3 
and  he  describes  the  gain  which  has  been  made  by  destroying 
the  horrible  lodging-houses  (of  these  as  they  exist  in  Xew  York 
the  reader  will  find  a  graphic  description  in  the  pages  of  this 
volume),  and  in  the  consequent  dispersion  of  their  inhab- 
itants. This  process,  however,  can  be  carried  out  only  where 
the  tenements  and  the  lodging-houses  are  of  the  worst  descrip- 
tion ;  and  this  process  does  not  of  itself  constitute  reform.  It 
is  for  Christian  philanthropy  to  turn  into  these  lower  wards  a 
stream  of  pure  and  better  humanity,  and  by  furnishing  ideals 
and  examples  of  life  promote  purer  and  better  living.  This 
work  of  private  and  personal  benevolence  until  comparatively 
recently  has  been  left  undone.  What  Mr.  Charles  Booth  says 
of  London  is  equally  true  of  Xew  York :  -  the  publican  is  left 
too  much  in  possession  of  the  field  as  friend  of  the  working 
man.''  Xothing  will  really  serve  except  to  give  him  a  better 
friend. 

It  is  a  part  of  the  common  cant  of  our  time  to  charge 
the  Christian  churches  with  being  indifferent  to  the  condition 
of  the  poor;  with  being  so  absorbed  in  creeds  and  rituals 
and  in  their  own  luxurious  worship  that  they  have  no  eyes 
osee  the  destitution  which  is  about  them,  —  no  ears  to  hear 
the  outcry  of  the  outcast.  Whatever  truth  there  may  be  in 
these  charges,  the  Christian  churches  have  been  the  first  to 


50  DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

enter  the  missionary  field  in  our  great  cities,  to  explore  it, 
and  to  engage  in  measures  of  recuperation  and  redemption. 
Every  city  church  of  any  considerable  size  and  resources  has 
one  or  more  mission  chapels  in  the  lower  wards  of  the  city, 
with  its  Sunday-school,  its  week-day  meetings  of  various 
descriptions,  and  generally  its  Sabbath  evening  service.  The 
teachers  in  these  schools  are  young  men  and  young  women 
from  the  up-town  churches.  They  are  not  always  wise,  and 
are  rarely  skilled  teachers.  The  value  of  their  ministry  lies 
not  so  much  in  the  Bible  or  in  the  catechism  which  they 
teach,  as  in  the  fact  that  for  one  hour  a  day  unkempt  boys 
and  girls  are  brought  in  contact  with  a  young  man  or  a 
young  woman  whom  they  admire,  then  learn  to  love,  and  so 
instinctively  take  as  a  pattern  to  be  imitated.  Any  man  who 
is  familiar  with  the  work  of  these  Sunday-schools  knows 
how,  in  two  or  three  years,  the  appearance  of  the  children 
changes.  They  become  cleanly  and  well  dressed.  The 
ragged  school  ceases  to  be  a  ragged  school ;  they  carry  back 
into  their  homes  something  of  the  inspiration  which  they 
have  derived  from  the  hour's  companionship  on  Sunday  after- 
noon ;  the  whole  neighborhood  feels  and  shows  the  influence. 
The  Five  Points,  for  years  dangerous  even  to  policemen  at 
night,  was  as  absolutely  purified  by  the  Five  Points  House  of 
Industry,  established  and  maintained  by  Mr.  Pease,  as  is  a 
filthy  street  when  flushed  out  by  a  stream  of  pure  water. 
Of  this  mission  work  Mrs.  Helen  Campbell  has  given  in  the 
opening  chapters  of  this  volume  a  most  graphic  picture  in 
her  account  of  the  work  of  Jerry  McAuley.  Her  description 
of  that  mission  makes  evident  that  our  Christian  work  in  the 
outcast  wards  will  never  accomplish  what  it  ought,  until  the 
outcasts  themselves,  who  have  been  converted,  are  set  apart 
to  mission  work  among  their  fellows.  Jesus  ordained  to  the 
gospel  ministry  the  twelve  fishermen  after  they  had  received 
but  a  year's  instruction  from  Him,  and  one  of  them  had  not 
fully  recovered  from  his  sailor  habit  of  profanity;  and  Paul 
began  preaching  to  the  Jews  within  a  few  days  after  he  was 
converted  to  Christianity. 


INTRODUCTION,  51 

Growing  historically,  though  not  organically,  out  of  these 
Christian  missions  arc  missionary  movements  equally  Christian 

in  spirit,  though  not  in  name,  nor  in  theological  doctrine.     In 

lieu  of  an  hour's  contact  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  these  new 
philanthropic  movements,  born  within  the  last  quarter  of  a 
century,  seek  to  provide  a  more  permanent  and  continuous  eon- 
tact.  The  most  notable  of  these,  Toy nbee  Hall  in  East  London, 
may  serve  as  an  illustration  of  the  others.  Toynbee  Hall  is  a 
young  men's  club,  with  a  house  which  is  open  only  to  the 
members  or  their  special  guests.  It  was  founded  by  the  Rev. 
S.  A.  Barnett,  who  is  still  the  head  of  it.  The  club  house 
adjoins  his  church,  St.  Jude's,  Whitechapel,  but  there  is  no 
other  connection  between  Toynbee  Hall  and  the  church.  The 
conditions  of  admission  to  the  club  are  only  two :  that  the  can- 
didate be  a  clubable  fellow,  congenial  to  the  other  members, 
and  that  he  enter  the  club  because  he  has  a  sincere  desire  to  do 
some  unselfish  work  for  his  fellow-men  in  East  London.  Most 
of  the  members  of  the  club  are  engaged  through  the  day  in 
some  vocation,  being  dependent  on  their  industry  in  greater  or 
less  measure  for  their  livelihood.  But  the  evenings  which  other 
young  men  devote  to  calls,  theaters,  concerts,  and  society  in 
general,  the  residents  in  Toynbee  Hall  devote  to  some  philan- 
thropic work  in  the  district.  One  young  man  organizes  a  class 
in.  language,  another  in  literature,  another  in  some  practical 
phase  of  physical  science,  another  a  boys'  club.  Each  man 
selects  his  own  work  according  to  his  own  idiosyncrasy,  con- 
ferring with  the  head  of  the  club  only  to  avoid  collision  and 
duplications.  To  those  who  measure  a  missionary  work  by 
statistics  of  the  number  of  pupils  taught,  congregations  ad- 
dressed, visits  made,  and  converts  enrolled,  Toynbee  Hall 
appears  a  failure.  But  to  those  who  are  able  to  see  how  the 
inspiration  furnished  to  one  life  is  transferred  to  a  second  and 
a  third,  how  each  lighted  torchlights  in  turn  another,  the  work 
of  Toynbee  Hall  takes  rank  with  the  highest  and  best  Christian 
work  of  our  century.  It  is  imitated  in  spirit,  though  not  in 
detailed  methods,  by  the  College  Settlement  of  New  York',  a 


52        DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

settlement  of  college^girls,  who,  with  a  similar  aim,  have  taken 
up  their  residence  in  one  of  the  lower  wards  of  New  York  city  ; 
and  by  the  Andover  House  in  Boston,  which  has  recently  been 
established  by  the  students  of  Andover  Theological  Seminary. 
Another  form  in  which  this  same  principle  of  personal 
intermingling  of  the  cultivated  and  the  virtuous  with  the  less 
fortunate,  is  wrought  out,  is  furnished  by  the  Boys'  and  Girls' 
Clubs.  A  Working  Girls'  Club  usually  consists  of  from 
twenty  to  fifty  members.  It  sometimes  has  rooms  in  a  mission 
chapel  or  parish  house,  but  more  frequently  hires  a  house  of  its 
own.  A  group  of  ladies  interested  in  the  movement  identify 
themselves  with  the  club  and  attend  its  sessions  with  greater  or 
less  regularity.  The  house  is  usually  open  every  evening  in 
the  week,  and  classes  are  established  in  which  dressmaking, 
millinery,  cooking,  and  the  like  are  taught.  Every  member  of 
the  club  pays  a  small  fee,  and  every  member  of  each  class 
'some  additional  fee.  These  payments,  however,  are  rarely 
sufficient  to  meet  all  the  expenses  of  the  club ;  the  deficit  is 
provided  either  by  special  contributions  or  by  some  church. 
The  Working  Girls'  Clubs  thus  connected  with  the  Episcopal 
Churches  of  New  York  are  united  in  one  central  organization. 
There  is  also  both  in  New  York  and  in  Brooklyn  a  federation 
of  the  non-Episcopal  Working  Girls'  Clubs.  Connected  with 
these  clubs  are  country  homes  or  "  Vacation  Houses,"  where 
the  girls  can  spend  their  week  or  fortnight  of  summer  vacation. 
They  pay  their  actual  expenses,  thus  maintaining  a  self- 
respecting  independence,  but  the  house  is  provided  and  more 
or  less  equipped  by  private  benevolence.  These  Working 
Girls'  Clubs  can  hardly  be  called  missionary  enterprises ;  since 
the  girls  who  constitute  them  are  independent  and  of  unexcep- 
tionable character ;  the  merit  of  the  club  consists  in  the  oppor- 
tunity for  social  intermingling  and  consequent  moral  culture. 
In  many  of  them  no  denominational  lines  are  recognized,  and 
in  not  a  few  supported  by  Protestant  churches,  Koman 
Catholics  constitute  a  majority  of  the  members.  The  Boys' 
Club  differs  from  the  Working  Girls'  Club  only  as  the  boy 


INTRODUCTION. 

differs  from  the  girl.     They  vary  in  membership  from  twenty 

to  two  hundred.  A  room  is  secured  in  which  the  boys 
gathered  once,  twice,  or  oftener  a  week,  for  all  sorts  of  employ- 
ment from  a  lecture  or  a  clas>  to  a  military  drill  or  a  musical 
ci' stereopticon  entertainment.  The  expense  involved  in  such 
work  is  not  necessarily  very  great.  The  Rev.  John  L.  Scudder, 
Pastor  of  the  People's  Tabernacle  (Congregational)  of  Jersey 
City,  has  recently  opened  in  connection  with  his  church  the 
apparatus  for  such  a  work  as  I  have  just  briefly  described. 
He  has  bought  two  dwelling-houses;  turned  the  parlor  and 
basement  of  one  of  them,  by  taking  out  the  floor,  into  a  swim- 
ming bath ;  in  the  other,  furnished  a  parlor  and  provided  some 
class  rooms ;  in  an  additional  building,  constructed  for  the  pur- 
pose, placed  a  gymnasium,  bowling  alley,  billiard  tables,  library 
and  reading-rooms,  and  game-room  for  the  younger  boys.  The 
entire  expense  of  the  whole  establishment  has  not  exceeded 
$15,000.  What  the  running  expense  will  be  it  is  too  early  to 
state  with  positiveness,  but  a  considerable  proportion  of  it  will 
be  provided  for  by  the  fees,  and  the  demand  for  admission  by 
the  boys  is  already  so  great  that  they  have  to  be  admitted  only 
in  sections.  The  People's  Tabernacle,  however,  is  in  a  down- 
town district  and  is  peculiarly  well  situated  for  such  a  work. 

Clubs  of  workingmen  are  more  common  in  London  than  in 
this  country.  In  AVhitechapel  alone  there  are  six  of  them, 
classed  by  Mr.  Booth  as  philanthropic  and  religious,  and  all  of 
them,  with  one  exception,  total  abstinence  clubs. 

This  account  would  not  be  complete  without  at  least  refer- 
ing  to  the  system  of  "Friendly  Visitors,"1  —  a  system  accord- 
ing to  which  certain  persons,  under  the  direction  of  a  central 
board,  pledge  themselves  to  take  one  or  more  families  who 
need  counsel,  if  not  material  help,  on  their  visiting  list,  and 
maintain  personal  friendly  relations  with  them;  and  to  the 
Free  Kindergarten  Schools,  generally  maintained  by  private 
benevolence,  but  in  some  communities  attached  to  and  forming 
a  part  of  the  public  school  system. 

1  Of  this  method  of    encouraging  self-help   Miss   Octavia  Hill  gives  an 
admirable  account  in  the  August  number  of  the  Nineteenth  Century. 
[3* -half  sig.] 


54        DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT  IN  NEW  YORK. 

The  reader  will  remember  how  Bunyan's  Pilgrim  was  taken 
into  the  Interpreter's  House  and  there  saw  a  fire  which  burned 
hotter  the  more  water  was  thrown  upon  it.  He  understood 
the  mystery  when  the  Interpreter  took  him  to  the  other  side 
of  the  wall,  where  he  saw  a  man  with  a  vessel  of  oil  in  his 
hand  which  he  continually  but  secretly  cast  on  the  fire.  I 
have  tried  in  this  introduction  to  take  the  reader  to  the  other 
side  of  the  wall  and  give  him  a  glimpse  of  what  is  being  done, 
and  of  what  should  be  done  on  very  much  larger  scale,  to  keep 
alive  that  form  of  faith  and  hope  and  love  which  burns  or 
flickers,  or  at  the  worst  glows  as'  a  divine  ember  in  every 
human  heart.  The  book  to  which  this  is  an  introduction  de- 
scribes only  too  truly  the  influences  at  work  to  quench  the 
divine  spark  in  humanity.  But  the  case  is  by  no  means  desper- 
ate. Mr.  Charles  Booth  is  authority  for  the  statement  that  less 
than  13  per  cent,  of  the  population  of  London  can  be  counted 
as  "  very  poor,"  while  nearly  65  per  cent,  are  in  comfort,  and  a 
portion  of  them  in  affluence.  And  Mr.  Barnett  is  authority 
for  the  statement  that  in  twenty  years  time,  by  the  influences 
which  I  have  here  briefly  hinted  at,  Whitechapel,  famed  as  one 
of  the  worst  city  districts  in  the  world,  has  been  so  greatly  im- 
proved that  "  the  death  rate  is  now  normal,  and  only  one  com- 
paratively small  district  remains  unreformed  and  vicious  to 
remind  the  child  of  what  was  common  in  his  father's  days." 

What  has  been  can  be. 


Plymouth  Church, 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


*s 


147) 


::.*.-, 


THlTOBfRDDAYljEar  r 


c&>-<c- 


PART    I. 


BY 


?^A^_  &<z^JiAj^ 


CHAPTER  I. 

SUNDAY  IX  WATER  STREET  —  HOMES  OF  REVELRY  AND  VICE  — 
SCENES  IX  THE  MISSION  ROOM  — STRANGE  EXPERIENCES. 

Water  Street,  its  Life  and  Surroundings  —  A  Harvest  Field  for  Saloons  and 
Bueket-Sbops  —  Dens  of  Abomination  —  Sunday  Sights  and  Scenes  —  The 
Little  Sign,  "Helping  Hand  for  Men"  —  Inside  the  Mission  Building  — 
An  Audience  of  ex-Convicts  and  Criminals  —  A  Tough  Crowd  —  Jerry 
McAuley's  Personal  Appearance  —  A  Typical  Ruffian  —  A  Shoeless  and 
Hatless  Brigade  —  Pinching  Out  the  Name  of  Jesus — "God  Takes  what 
the  Devil  Would  Turn  up  His  Nose  at" — "O,  Dear-r,  Dear-r,  Dearie 
Me!"  —  Comical  Scenes  —  Quaint  Speeches  —  Screams  and  Flying  Stove- 
Lids— A  Child's  Hymn— •'Our  Father  in  Heaven,  We  Hallow  Thy 
Name"  —  Old  Padgett  —  A  Water  Street  Bum — "God  be  Merciful  to 
Me  a  Sinner" — A  Terrible  Night  in  a  Cellar  —  The  Empty  Arm-Chair. 

FOR  six  days  in  the  week  the  gray-fronted  warehouses  on 
^Vater  Street,  grim  and  forbidding,  seem  to  hold  no 
knowledge  that  Sunday  can  come.  All  the  week,  above  the 
roar  of  heavy  teams,  and  the  shouts  and  oaths  of  excited 
drivers  as  wheels  lock  and  traffic  is  for  a  moment  brought  to  a 
standstill,  one  hears  the  roar  of  steam,  the  resounding  beat  of 
great  hammers,  the  clash  of  metal  as  the  iron  plates  take  shape. 

(49) 


50  LIFE  AND  SCENES  IN  WATER  STREET. 

Whether  stoves  or  boilers  have  chief  place  here  it  would  be 
hard  to  say.  At  first  sight  one  is  inclined  to  say  stoves,  since 
through  open  doors,  as  well  as  on  the  sidewalks,  are  enough,  it 
would  seem,  for  the  whole  world, — great  heaters  for  great 
houses,  more  modest  ones  for  lesser  needs,  and  with  them  stoves 
of  all  orders,  sizes,  and  shapes.  How  is  it  possible  that  any 
creature  in  any  winter,  however  winds  may  blow,  can  remain 
un  warmed,  since  here  is  the  "  Poor  Man's  Friend,"  holding  only 
a  few  quarts  of  coal,  and  warranted  to  consume  everything  but 
the  merest  suspicion  of  ashes  ?  Here,  then,  are  stoves  for  the 
world,  and,  having  settled  this,  it  instantly  becomes  certain 
that  there  must  be  boilers  for  the  whole  world  also,  with  a  no 
less  supply  of  sewer  and  water-pipes.  Boilers  are  everywhere, 
along  the  sidewalk  and  in  the  gutters,  and  children  from  the 
side-streets  "  play  house  "  within  their  recesses  with  as  thorough 
abandon  as  that  of  other  children  in  quiet  country  fields  and 
lanes.  They  are  bedrooms  as  well,  for  at  least  in  one  boiler 
two  children  are  sleeping,  undisturbed  by  roar  of  trade  or  shout 
of  contending  truckmen ;  while  other  children,  also  bent  upon 
such  play  as  the  street  may  afford,  play  hide-and-seek  in  the 
pipes  or  behind  the  stoves,  and  tumble  about  as  if  the  iron  were 
feather-beds.  Now  and  then  a  policeman  appears  and  scatters 
them,  but  for  the  most  part  they  have  their  will,  and  live  their 
small  lives  with  a  freedom  untouched  by  any  thought  of  the 
press  and  urgency  about  them. 

This  is  Water  Street  for  six  days  in  the  week,  and  then 
comes  Saturday  night,  and  the  doors  of  the  warehouses  close, 
and  the  crowd  streams  up  town.  The  trucks  stand  idle  at  cor- 
ners and  offer  one  more  means  of  delight  for  the  children,  who 
run  under  and  over  them  and  reflect  that  a  whole  day  of  such 
bliss  will  be  theirs  unless  some  new  policeman,  more  rigid  in  his 
notions  than  his  comrades,  orders  theni  back  to  the  dens  from 
which  they  have  emerged.  Sunday  has  come,  and  with  it 
creeps  into  the  empty  street  all  the  life  that  for  the  other  six 
days  bides  its  time  till  night  and  gives  no  sign  of  existence.  It  is 
essentially  a  business  street  and  only  business,  save  here  and  there 
a  tall  tenement-house,  reminders  of  a  day  when  Water  Street, 


A  REGION   OF   VICE   AND   CRIME.  51 

like  many  another  around  it,  was  a  part  of  the  region  known 
as  the  Five  Points,  long  ago  reduced  to  order  and  decency  by 
forces  working  for  good. 

This  is  what  the  casual  looker-on  thinks,  till  the  side  streets 
are  traversed,  and  the  sudden  discovery  made  that,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  business  has  claimed  much  of  the  old  ground, 
enough  still  remains  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy  to  offer  full 
harvest  for  the  saloon  and  bucket-shop.  Side  by  side  with 
warehouse  and  factory  are  dens  given  over  to  all  abominations. 
Here  are  sailors'  boarding-houses,  where  poor  Jack  is  fleeced 
and  turned  loose  to  ship  again  and  earn  painfully  the  wages 
that  he  will  return  to  use  in  the  same  fashion.  Stale-beer  dives 
are  in  every  other  basement ;  and  from  shackling  old  houses  — 
once  the  home  of  old  Kew  Yorkers  who  knew  this  as  fashion- 
able and  aristocratic  ground  —  come  the  jingle  of  cracked 
pianos  and  the  twanging  of  cheap  fiddles.  "Women  hideously 
painted  and  bedizened  are  here,  their  faces  bearing  an  imprint 
of  vice  unspeakable ;  and  here  also  children  swarm  at  every 
point,  drinking  in  the  influence  of  all  phases  of  a  life  which 
even  to  look  upon  for  a  fleeting  moment  carries  pollution 
with  it. 

Standing  at  the  corner  of  Dover  Street,  shadowed  by  the 
great  pier  of  the  Brooklyn  Bridge,  one  sees  here  and  there  a 
low,  gable-roofed  house,  the  last  remnants  of  the  homes  once 
owned  by  the  quiet  Dutch  burghers,  who,  if  spirits  walk  amidst 
their  old  haunts,  must  shrink  and  shudder  at  the  sights  and 
sounds  of  what  was  once  a  country  street.  Bat-pits  and  cock- 
pits, as  well  as  bucket-shops,  are  here,  and  they  are  thronged  by 
recruits  from  narrow  streets  and  from  dark  alleys  festering  with 
filth.  Cherry  street  is  near,  and  the  neighboring  police  station 
is  always  busy.  Every  nationality  under  heaven  is  brought 
before  its  court,  charged  with  every  form  of  drunkenness  and 
vicious  act ;  and  though  through  the  week  they  are  in  hiding, 
as  it  were,  and  wait  the  friendly  shadow  of  night  for  the  work 
they  would  do,  Sunday  is  theirs  to  deal  with  as  they  will. 
What  can  check  them,  and  what  hope  is  there  for  this  region, 
where  evil  rules  and  every  pestiferous  alley  and  swarming  tene- 


52 


JERRY  MCAULEY'S  WATER  STREET  MISSION. 


ment-house  holds  its  quota  of  defrauded,  vicious,  and  well-nigh 
hopeless  human  life  ? 

A  step  or  two  farther,  and  the  question  is  answered.     A 
plain  brick  building  shows  itself ;  a  carefully  kept  walk  before 

it.    The  wide 
doors    are 
closed  with  a 
spring    lock, 
and    on    the 
|  steps    stands 
I  a  policeman, 
waiving     off 
the    children 
and    h  a 1  f  - 
g  grown    boys 
\  who    make 
f  occasional 
|  rushes  to- 
ff ward     the 


jil  building  and 
smash  its 
windows  by 
volleys  of 
stones.  It  is 
the  Water 
Street  Mis- 
sion ;  and 
though  the 
rare  soul  of 
its  founder 
has  passed  on 

to  the  larger  life  for  which  it  waited,  his  work  is  still  done  as 
he  planned  at  the  beginning. 

Jerry  Mc Auley,  born  a  thief,  and  with  a  lengthening  record 
of  crime  ;  a  bully,  drunkard,  and  convict !  —who  does  not  know 
his  story  and  the  work  of  the  thirteen  years  in  which  he 
labored  for  the  ward  in  which  he  had  grown  up,  and  which  he 


THE   WATER   STREET   MISSION. 


INSIDE   THE    MISSION   ROOM.  53 

left  reluctantly  for  a  field  hardly  less  fruitful,  in  and  about 
Thirty -second  Street,  —  the  Cremorne  Mission  \  Whoever  once 
entered  the  plain  little  chapel  on  Water  Street,  holding  at 
most  not  over  four  hundred,  and  looked  into  the  face  of  the 
man  whose  pride  and  joy  it  was,  believed  at  once  in  his  deep 
sincerity.  Other  converts  who  had  started  missions  had  fallen 
from  grace,  and  many  had  known  a  last  state  worse  than  the 
first  ;  but  for  Jerry  fear  had  long  ago  ceased.  Beginning  fresh 
out  of  prison,  and  in  one  little  room,  where  he  hung  out  his 
sign,  "Helping  Hand  for  Men,"  he  had  gone  on  till  this  fruit 
of  his  labors  had  risen  as  a  visible  token  of  what  power  lies  in 
passionate  consecration  to  the  spirit  of  help. 

I  will  write  of  it,  then,  as  it  was  in  the  days  when  he  came 
and  went  there;  and  all  will  be  true  to-day,  since  nothing  has 
altered,  and  he  could  once  more  take  his  seat  in  the  arm-chair 
on  the  raised  platform  with  no  sense  of  strangeness.  On  this 
platform  is  a  small  reading-desk,  a  piano,  a  cabinet  organ,  and 
a  few  benches  for  visitors,  who  sit  facing  the  audience.  Scrip- 
ure  texts  hang  on  the  walls,  and  on  each  side  are  two  framed 
cards  printed  in  heavy  black  letters,  "  Speakers  strictly  limited 
to  one  minute." 

Looking  about  the  audience  which  has  come  in  quietly,  it  is 
hard  to  believe  that  this  is  the  Fourth  "Ward,  and  that  it  is 
made  up  of  ex-convicts,  criminals  of  many  orders,  and  all  the 
baser  products  of  this  nineteenth-century  civilization.  What- 
ever they  may  have  been,  to-day  at  least  finds  them  new  men, 
and  among  them  all  there  is  not  a  face  that  owns  worse  lines 
than  Jerry's  own,  or  that  would  be  seized  upon  by  the  phys- 
iognomist with  greater  avidity  as  a  proof  of  his  most  damaging 
conclusions — a  typical  bully  and  ruifian  fresh  from  the  hand  of 
Xature,  who  has  chosen  forms  that  do  not  lie.  The  frame  is 
tall  and  firm,  with  long  arms  and  great  hands,  which  show 
immense  brute  strength.  The  head  could  hardly  he  more  de- 
fective in  all  that  makes  possibility  for  man.  The  forehead  is 
retreating,  the  eyes  small  and  deep-set;  the  nose  heavy  and 
projecting,  and  the  wide  mouth  equally  animal  and  significant. 
There  is  a  keen  and  quiet  observation  that  one  sees  at  times  on 


54  THE   OPENING   OF   THE   MISSION   SERVICE. 

the  faces  of  old  convicts  who  have  known  every  phase  of 
successful  crime.  It  is  the  look,  too,  of  some  powerful  animal 
anticipating  attack  from  a  hidden  enemy,  and  certain  that 
its  own  strength  will  suffice  for  any  conflict  that  may  come. 

This  is  Jerry,  and  at  the  cabinet  organ  near  him  sits  his 
wife,  a  sweet-faced  motherly  woman,  who  looks  at  him  with  de- 
votion, but  also  nods  and  smiles  as  one  and  another  enter  and 
take  Avhat  are  evidently  familiar  places.  She  has  played  at  in- 
tervals hymns  from  the  Moody  and  Sankey  collection,  to  which 
the  feet  of  the  audience  keep  time  as  the  chapel  fills,  but  as  the 
hands  of  the  clock  point  to  half-past  seven  she  nods  again,  and 
a  tall  man  comes  up  to  the  desk  and  says  quietly,  "Let  us 
pray." 

It  is  an  Irish  tongue  that  speaks.  There  is  no  rant,  no 
shouting,  but  an  appeal  of  deepest  earnestness  that  this  night 
many  wandering  souls  may  be  brought  into  the  waiting  fold. 
"There  are  some  of  us  that's  clane  and  dacent,"  he  says. 
"There's  more  outside  that  is  nayther.  Oh,  Lord  Jesus,  that 
picked  me  up  out  of  the  gutter,  pick  up  them  too  an'  make  'em 
come  to  you." 

"Bring  them  in  here,"  he  adds,  after  a  moment  in  which 
his  voice  has  broken,  and  he  has  stood  silent,  quite  powerless  to 
speak.  "Bring  them  in  here,  an'  let  us  show  them  the  way 
out  o'  trouble  into  peace." 

A  hymn  follows  and  then  a  chapter,  the  story  of  Blind 
Bartimeus.  The  speaker  has  his  own  method  of  pronunciation, 
but  he  reads  with  a  reverence  so  deep  that  all  inclination  to 
smile  is  destroyed,  until  he  ends  with  a  climax,  grotesque,  yet 
full  of  power : 

"An'  so  ye  see  that  the  Lord  was  willin'  to  give  his  time 
and  his  mind  to  any  one  that  would  be  askin'  ayther.  I  tell 
ye,  dear  friends,  there's  nothin'  like  it.  Joshua  commanded 
the  sun  and  moon  to  stand  still,  an'  sure  'twas  for  his  own 
interest  he  did  it,  but  Jesus  Christ  stood  still  an'  spoke  to  a 
blind  beggar!  You'll  never  get  ahead  o'  that,  do  what  ye 
will." 

Men  crept  in  as  he  read  and  talked,  some  hatless,  others 


JERRYS   OW?7   TESTIMONY. 

without  shoes  or  coat,  with  matted  hair  and  dirty  face,  Beeming 
to  have  come  straight  from  the  gutter,  each  one  watched  hy 
the  deep-set  eyes  of  the  occupant  of  the  chair.     His  time  had 

come,  and  now  he  rose  slowly  and  looked  about. 

"The  time's  come  for  experiences,"  Jerry  began.  "  There's 
few  of  you  like  to  have  had  more  than  me,  but  when  you  start 
to  tell,  don't  you  forget  an'  run  over  your  minute.  There's 
a  deal  can  be  said  in  a  minute.  Cut  out  the  middle  an'  give  us 
both  ends.  An'  you  needn't  be  afraid  to  tell  the  whole. 
There's  no  spot  in  New  York  where  you  can  tell  the  worst  an' 
have  it  so  natural  not  one  winks  when  they  hear  it.  Why  look 
at  me.  Clean,  ain't  I,  an'  respectable,  ain't  I,  an'  happy,  as 
the  blindest  might  see.  That's  me,  an'  yet  I've  been  down  in 
the  gutter  deeper  than  those  fellers  over  there  or  one  that's 
here  to-night.  Yes,  that's  so.  I'd  no  clothes  but  an  old  red 
shirt  thick  with  dirt,  an'  a  hat  that  might  'a'  lain  in  an  old  tar- 
pot.  I've  lain  on  the  floor  in  stale-beer  dives  an'  begged  for  a 
drink,  an'  that  head  on  me,  me  own  mother  wouldn't  'a' 
known  me ;  but  for  all  that  an'  more  the  blessed  Jesus  picked 
me  up  an'  set  me  on  me  feet,  an'  now  I'm  tryin'  to  do  the  same 
with  them  that  needs  it.     Who  wouldn't?" 

k*  I've  got  the  same  story  to  tell,  and  may  be  even  a  worse 
one,"  said  a  voice  from  behind  me,  and  I  turned  to  see  the 
organist  stepping  forward,  her  eyes  full  of  pity  as  one  of 
the  drunken  men  broke  into  a  wail — "O  Lord!  "What's  the 
use?"  "Yes,  it's  the  same  old  story,"  she  went  on.  "I 
drank  and  drank  till  there  was  nought  left  of  me  but 
the  beast.  I  was  so  lost  and  degraded  I  don't  want  to 
think  about  it,  but  even  then  there  was  a  powder  that  could 
save  me,  and  it  did ;  and  here  I  am  to  tell  you  every  one  y<  >u 
can't  be  so  far  gone  but  what  you  can  be  picked  up  out  of  it. 
The  dear,  tender  Saviour  found  me,  and  all  I  want  in  the 
world  is  to  make  every  one  know  His  power,  and  have  the 
peace  and  comfort  I  have  every  hour  of  my  life.  Now,  lei's 
hear  what  some  of  the  rest  think,  and  if  there's  any  that 
doubt." 

If   Lucretia   Mott    had   suddenly   arisen,   flung  down    her 


56  PINCHING   OUT   THE   NAME   OF   JESUS. 

Quaker  bonnet,  and  announced  herself  an  inveterate  drunkard, 
I  could  not  have  been  more  profoundly  amazed.  I  studied  the 
sweet,  steady  face;  not  a  line  of  it  bearing  any  meaning  but 
that  of  love  and  cheer  and  helpfulness,  with  an  even,  merry  ex- 
pression about  the  lips,  that  smiled  involuntarily  at  the  un- 
expected turns  of  thought  and  speech  from  one  and  another. 

Half  a  dozen  spring  up  at  once,  and  sit  down  smiling, 
watching  their  turn.  A  flood  of  experience  pours  out,  some 
eight  or  ten  occupying  not  more  than  five  minutes : 

"I  came  in  here  fresh  from  a  three-years  term,  and  Jesus 
saved  me." 

"Fifteen  weeks  ago  to-night  I  rolled  in  here  so  drunk  I 
couldn't  stand,  and  God  saved  me  that  very  night." 

"  Eight  months  ago  I  was  a  wicked  woman,  none  but  God 
knows  how  wicked,  though  some  here  has  had  a  taste  of  it,  and 
Jesus  saved  me? 

Then  a  woman  rose ;  a  markedly  Jewish  face,  and  the 
strong  accent  of  the  German  Jew. 

"  I  bless  Gott  dat  ever  I  come  here.  O,  my  tear  friends, 
how  vill  I  tell  you  how  vicket  I  vas !  So  vicket !  I  schvear, 
und  tell  lies,  und  haf  such  a  demper  I  trow  de  dishes  at  mine 
husband  ven  he  come  to  eat.  And  I  hated  dem  Christians  so ! 
I  say,  dey  should  be  killed  efery  one.  I  vould  hurt  dem  if  I 
could.  One  time  a  Bible  reader  she  come  und  gif  me  a  Bible. 
Yen  I  see  de  New  Testament,  I  begin  mit  mine  fingers,  und 
efery  day  I  pinch  out  de  name  of  Jesus.  It  take  a  goot  vhile. 
Efery  day  I  haf  to  read  so  to  see  de  name  of  Jesus,  und  efery 
day  I  pinch  him  out.  Den  at  last  it  is  all  out  und  I  am  glad. 
Oh,  vhat  shame  it  makes  me  now  to  see  dat  Bible  so !  Den 
mine  husband  runs  avay  und  leaf  me  und  de  five  children,  und 
I  cannot  get  vork  enough,  und  ve  go  hungry.  I  vas  in  such 
drouble.  Und  one  day  mine  neighbor  comes,  und  she  say, 
'  Come  mit  me.  I  go  to  a  nice  place.'  All  de  time  I  remem- 
ber some  vords  I  read  in  dat  Testament,  und  dey  shtick  to  me. 
So  I  come,  but  I  say,  'lama  Jew,  I  like  not  to  come.'  Dere 
vas  a  man,  und  he  say  he  been  a  Jew,  too,  und  I  could  spit  on 
him ;  but  den  I  begins  to  gry,  I  feels  so  queer,  und  den  some 


A  TYPICAL   WATER   STREET    BUM.  5 ! 

one  saw  'Come;  it  voul  hurt  you  to  be  prayed  for,'  bu1  I  say, 
'Goavaymit  you,  I  vill  not.5  T  keep  comin'.  It  seem  good, 
und  at  last  I  did  understand,  und  I  pray,  on'  beg  eferybody 
pray.     Oh,  my  sins  are  so  big !     I  vant  to  lose  dem.     Ivantto 

lofe  Jesus!  I  keep  prayin',  und  in  one  day  dey  are  all  gone. 
Oli,  I  am  so  happy.  You  vill  not  believe.  I  do  not  ever  vant 
to  schvear  any  more.  No,  not  any  more.  I  do  not  vant  to 
holler  und  be  mad.  No,  not  any  more.  I  do  not  vant  to  tell 
lies;  no,  not  any  more.  Gott  is  so  goot  to  me.  I  could  not  be 
vicket  any  more.     Oh,  pray  for  me,  und  help  me  to  be  goot." 

At  this  point  an  interruption  occurred.  An  old  man  in  a 
sailor's  blue  shirt  had  taken  his  place  among  the  rougher  men 
near  the  door,  —  a  man  between  sixty  and  seventy,  with  every 
mark  of  long  dissipation.  Ilis  hat  was  gone,  as  is  often  the 
case,  and  he  had  come  from  across  the  street  barefoot,  having 
pawned  his  shoes  for  a  final  drink.  Heavy  and  gross  ;  his  nose 
bulging  with  rum-blossoms;  his  thin  white  hair  gone  in 
patches,  like  the  forlorn  mangy  white  dogs  of  this  locality  ; 
trembling  with  weakness  and  incipient  "horrors,"  and  looking 
about  with  twinkling,  uncertain  blue  eyes,  he  seemed  one  of 
the  saddest  illustrations  of  what  the  old  Water  Street  had 
power  to  do.  His  seat  had  not  satisfied  him.  Once  or  twice 
he  had  changed,  and  now  he  arose  and  stumbled  up  the  aisle  to 
the  front,  sitting  down  with  a  thump,  and  looking  about  curi- 
ously at  the  new  faces.  Jerry  eyed  him  a  moment,  but  appar- 
ently decided  that  the  case  at  present  needed  no  interference, 
The  organ  sounded  the  first  notes  of  "The  Sweet  By  and  By/' 
and  the  old  man  dropped  his  head  upon  his  breast  and  shed  a 
drunken  tear.     Then  looking  at  Jerry,  he  said  : 

"  O,  dear-r,  dear-r,  dearie  me  !  Here  I  be  !  here  I  be  !  "  As 
the  words  ended,  it  seemed  to  occur  to  him  that,  like  Mr. 
AVegg,  he  had  "fallen  into  poetry  unawares,"  and  with  great 
cheerfulness  and  briskness  he  repeated  his  couplet,  looking 
about  for  approbation.  One  of  the  " regulars "  came  and  sat 
down  by  him  and  whispered  a  few  words. 

"  All  right,"  was  the  prompt  answer,  and  for  a  time  he 
remained  silent. 


58  COMICAL  SCENES  AND   QUAINT   SPEECHES. 

Another  hymn,  "Have  you  trials  and  temptations?"  was 
sung,  and  another  man  stood  up. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,  my  friends,  salt's  salt,  an'  if  the  salt 
you  salt  with  ain't  salt,  how  you  goin'  to  salt  it  ? " 

A  pause,  and  the  man,  flushing  deeply,  sat  down. 

"  You're  tangled  up,  like,  that's  all,"  said  Jerry.  "I  see  well 
enough,  you  want  us  to  be  lively  Christians ;  plenty  o'  sea- 
soning and  no  wishy-washiness.     Ain't  that  it !  " 

"  That's  it,"  said  the  embarrassed  speaker  with  a  smile  of 
relief,  and  another  arose. 

"  I  tell  ye  a  man's  passions  ride  up  jest  the  way  his  collar 
does  sometimes.  You  ever  fought  with  your  own  shirt-collar, 
when  a  button's  off  an'  it  rides  up  an'  rasps  your  ears  an'  skins 
your  neck,  an'  you'd  give  half  a  dollar  to  keep  it  down  ?  That's 
me,  an'  between  tobacco,  an'  liquor,  an'  swearin',  I  tell  ye  I  had 
more'n  I  could  do.  I  thought  I'd  reform  on  me  own  hook.  I 
didn't  want  no  hangin'  on  to  somebody's  skirts  an'  goin'  into 
Heaven  that  way.  But  I  had  to  come  to  it.  I  was  jest  beaten 
every  time.  An'  now  I  hang  on,  an'  the  harder  I  hang  the 
better  I  get  along,  an'  that's  me." 

It  was  a  July  evening,  and  doors  and  windows  were  all 
open.  I  had  taken  my  place  at  the  organ,  to  relieve  for  a  time 
Mrs.  McAuley,  who  usually  presided.  Street  sounds  mingled 
with  the  hymns  and  testimonies,  and  the  policeman  found  it 
all  and  more  than  one  could  do  to  preserve  any  degree  of 
order  outside.  Back  of  the  Mission  building  is  a  high  tene- 
ment-house, the  windows  overlooking  the  chapel  and  within 
speaking  distance.  Listening  to  the  speeches  of  the  men,  and 
fanning  to  bring  some  breath  of  coolness  into  the  stifling  air,  I 
heard  from  the  upper  rooms  of  this  tenement-house  the  sound 
of  a  fierce  quarrel.  A  man  and  woman  were  the  actors,  the 
man  apparently  sitting  quietly  and  at  intervals  throwing  out 
some  taunting  words,  for  the  woman's  voice  grew  louder  and 
shriller.  Then  came  the  crash  of  breaking  furniture ;  a  scream, 
and  the  throwing  of  some  heavy  piece  of  iron ;  probably  a 
stove  lid.  The  door  banged  furiously,  and  for  a  moment  there 
was  silence.     Then  began  the  snarling,  raging  cry  of  demoniac 


A   FIERCE   TORRENT   OF   OATHS    AND    ABUSE. 


passion;  a  wild-boast  rage  that  it  curdled  the  blood  to  hear, 
interspersed  with  screams  and  oaths.     No  one  went   to  her. 

The  house  was  well  used  to  sueli  demonstration,  and  as  her 
fury  slackened  slightly  she  leaned  from  the  open  window  and 
looked  into  the  chapel.     Then  followed  a  volley  of  oaths. 


THE   PLATFORM   FACING   THE   AUDIENCE   LN    THE   WATER   STREET 
MISSION   ROOM. 

"  Cursed  heretics.  Bunch  o'  liars.  I  sphit  on  ye  all.  Ah, 
but  wouldn't  I  like  to  get  at  the  eyes  of  yees,  ye  ivery  one ! 
An'  me  fine  lady  there  at  the  organ!     Oh,  ye  sit  there  an'  fan 

at  yer  ease  ye ,  do  ye?     Think  ye  could  earn  yer  own  livin\ 

ye!     Comin'  down  an'  sittin'  there  an'  niver  carin'  a 


if  all  of  us  has  our  hids  knocked  off!     What  do  ye  know  about 

throuble, ye?     Ah,  let  me  get  at  ye  once,  an'  I'll  tear  ye  to 

slithers.     I'd  slatter  ye  if  I  had  the  handlin'  of  ye.      Turn 
round,  will  ye,  an'  show  yer  face  an'  I'll  sphit  on  it.'' 

As  the  torrent  of  oaths  and  abuse  went  on,  so  fierce  and 
furious  that  one  instinctively  shrunk  back',  tearing  some  missile 
must  follow,  a  child's  voice  from  the  room  below  —  a  voice  not 


60  THE   EFFECT   OF   A   CHILD'S   HYMN. 

shrill  arid  piercing,  like  that  of  many  children,  but  clear,  pure, 
and  even — began  singing,  to  the  air  of  "Home,  Sweet  Home," 
a  hymn  learned  in  the  Howard  Mission ;  "  Our  Father  in 
Heaven,  we  hallow  Thy  Name." 

The  oaths  redoubled,  the  child  now  being  the  object  of 
attack,  but  she  did  not  stop,  and  each  word  came  distinct  and 
sweet.  The  man  who  had  risen  to  speak  stood  silent. 
Straight  through  to  the  end  the  little  voice  sung  on.  The 
storm  of  words  above  slackened,  then  ceased,  and  silence 
settled  down;  a  silence  that  seemed  the  counterpart  of  that 
which  came  upon  the  wild  waves  of  Galilee  when  —  then  as 
now  —  the  Saviour's  voice  had  power  to  bring  quietness  out 
of  the  storm. 

The  men,  to  whom  such  horrible  scenes  were  no  novelty, 
continued  to  narrate  their  experiences : 

"If  Heaven  had  cost  me  five  dollars  I  couldn't  'a'  got 
there,"  said  another.  "  I  was  that  ragged  an  old-clothes  man 
wouldn't  'a'  bid  on  me ;  no,  nor  a  ragpicker  'a'  taken  me  up  on 
his  hook ;  but  here  I  am.  Oh,  I  tell  ye,  anybody  can  be  saved. 
I  said  I  couldn't  be.  I  was  too  far  gone,  but  here  I  am,  clean, 
an'  good  clothes  too.  You  say  you  can't  be  saved.  You  can 
be.  Jesus  took  holt  of  me  just  the  way  he  saved  wretches 
when  he  was  down  here,  an'  don't  you  suppose  His  arm  is  long 
enough  to  reach  across  eighteen  hundred  years  and  get  a  holt 
of  you?     Try  it." 

"Damned  hypocrites,  every  one  of  you!"  growled  a  man 
in  the  background,  and  shuffled  out,  turning  to  shake  his  fist 
as  he  opened  the  door. 

"  There's  many  a  one  here  has  said  the  same  in  the  begin- 
ning," said  a  young  man  who  had  sprung  to  his  feet  and  stood 
looking  intently  about.  "  I  did,  for  one.  I  said  Jerry  McAuley 
was  the  biggest  liar  goin',  and  a  fraud  all  the  way  through. 
'Twas  me  was  the  liar,  and  I  said  so  when  I'd  got  strength  to 
stop  my  drinkin'  and  chewin'  and  smokin'  and  keep  out  o'  the 
gin-mills.  I'm  clean  inside  and  I'm  clean  outside  now,  and  I 
bless  the  Lord  it's  so.     Oh,  believe,  every  one  o'  you." 

"He's  told  the  truth!"  cried  another:    "He  was  a  sneak, 


old  Padgett's  testimony.  61 

and  I  was  a  rearm.'  tearin'  bully,  worse  than  ten  o'  him,  and 
here  I  am  now,  ashamed  yet,  but  there  was  forgiveness  for  me 
and  more  like  me.     Hi,  old  Padgett!     Ain't  thai  so?" 

"You'd  better  believe  it  is!"  and  old  Padgett  rose  slowly, 
the  'old '  being  a  term  of  affection  rather  than  descriptive  of  his 
battered  yet  almost  youthful  countenance.  "It's  me  that  swal- 
Lered  me  wages  fast  as  I  could  earn  'em,  an'  me  wife  the  same. 
I  bummed  round  here  with  Jerry  before  ever  he  got  sent  up, 
an'  I  wouldn't  believe  me  eves  the  night  I  come  in  here  an'  see 
him  clean  an'  respectable  an'  heard  him  tell  how  it  happened. 
I  knelt  down  here  that  very  night.  I  wasn't  going  to  lose  any 
time,  I  can  tell  ye,  but  I  said  to  meself,  I  didn't  much  believe 
anythin'  would  come  of  it,  but  somethin'  did.  I  was  that  shook 
up  I  couldn't  get  to  me  feet,  an'  when  I  got  up  I  said  I  was 
done  with  drink  forever.  I  was,  boys.  I  hain't  never  been  in 
a  gin-mill  since,  save  to  pull  my  v^il'e  out,  an'  it's  a  hard  pull 
an'  a  long  one  she  give  me  before  she'd  come  round  to  my  way 
o'  thinkin'.     Here  she  is,  though.     Ain't  you,  Ellen  '." 

"I  am  that,  praise  the  Lord,"  said  a  little  woman,  rising 
suddenly.  "I  won't  go  back  on  his  word.  He'd  give  me 
money  to  get  supper,  an'  I'd  spend  it  for  drink,  an'  he'd  come 
home  an1  find  me  dead  drunk  on  the  floor.  That's  a  nice  kind 
of  a  wife,  ain't  it?  But  he  never  lost  patience.  I  come  here 
a  year  an'  couldn't  never  seem  to  understand.  I  was  Catholic, 
an'  that  made  it  harder.  But  one  night  I  heard,  'em  singin'  as 
I  come:  'Light  in  the  darkness,  sailor,  day  is  at  hand,'  an'  all 
at  once  in  it  streamed,  an'  there  was  sunrise  inside  o'  me.  I 
wanted  drink  sometimes;  I  won't  deny  it,  but  I  said,  'Jesus 
save  me,'  an'  He  did  every  time.  I  never  get  tired  sayin'  it 
over  an'  over." 

"  Nor  none  of  us,"  said  Jerry,  rising  slowly.  "  It's  time  now 
to  change  the  meetin'  an'  see  who's  tired  o'  knockin'  around 
an'  wants  to  be  saved.  There's  one  down  by  the  door  there 
I'm  dead  certain  of,  an'  I've  got  me  eye  on  one  just  out  from  a 
ten-years  term.  I've  been  there.  Don't  you  think  I'd  like  to 
be  quiet  about  it?  Well,  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  quiet.  A  dirty 
rascal  of  a  thief,  —  that's  what  I  was,  an'   I'll  tell  every  time 


62 


jerry's  description  of  his  old  haunts. 


what  I  had  to  be  saved  from.  I'd  V  cut  a  man's  throat  for  a 
five-dollar  bill  an'  kicked  him  overboard.  I  was  a  bummer, 
too,  in  war-time,  an'  had  plenty  o'  money,  an'  rode  behind  me 
own  fast  horse,  an'  I  fought  with  every  one  that  looked  at  me 
the  wrong  way.  The  lower  I  got  the  more  I  fought.  Head 
on  me  like  a  mop.  Big  scar  acrost  me  nose.  Wonder  I've  got 
a  nose  at  all  when  I  think  on  all  the  licks  it  got.  I  got  that 
low  down  I'd  hang  round  the  bucket-shops,  an'  sawdust  the 

floor  and  clean  up  the  nas- 
tiness  just  for  one  glass  o' 
bad  rum.  An'  I'd  hang 
round  an'  look  at  every 
soul  that  come  in,  like  a 
hungry  dog,  hopin'  they'd 
treat.  They'd  send  me 
out.  'Come,  Jerry,  give 
us  a  rest.  Go  out  and 
take  a  cool-off  round  the 
block.'  Oh,  how  mean  I'd 
feel!  But  I'd  come  out. 
I  was  like  as  if  I'd  die, 
if  I  didn't  get  a  drink. 
Many's  the  time  I've  slep' 
in  a  corner  on  the  street. 
I  had  a  home,  too.  Want 
to  know  what  it  was  like  \ 
I'll  tell  you.  It  was  in  a 
cellar  on  Front  Street. 
Me  an'  three  men  slep' 
on  some  foul  straw  in 
the  corner.  Often  the  tide  came  in,  and  we'd  wake  an'  the 
water  well  over  us  an'  risin'.  We  kep'  a  log  there,  an'  we'd 
get  up  on  the  log,  an'  float  'round  till  it  went  down.  One 
night  some  feller  stole  the  log  an'  locked  the  door  for  fun. 
The  tide  was  high,  an'  we  Avere  pretty  drunk,  an'  couldn't  find 
the  log  nor  the  door  neither,  an'  before  we  kicked  the  door 
down  the  water  was  up  to  our  necks,  an'  we  sober  enough,  an' 


ALL  MY  DRINKS  3  CENTS."  AN  EVERY- 
DAY SCENE  NEAR  THE  WATER  STREET 
MISSION. 


BITTER   MEMORIES  OF  BY-GONE    DAYS. 

scared  to  death  for  fear  we'd  drown.  Then  I  had  another 
home.  That  was  the  same  kind,  only  I  changed  me  base  an" 
tried  a  Brooklyn  cellar  instead  of  a  New  York  one.  There 
ain't  much  choice.  Oh,  wasn't  I  a  dirty  rag-shop  of  a  man  ! 
You  ought  to  see  the  home  I've  got  now;  right  np-stairs  here. 
Any  of  you  may  go  and  look  that  wants  to.  I  tell  ye  I  sit 
down  an'  the  tears  come  in  me  eyes  many  a  time  when  I 
see  me  nice  furniture  an'  carpets,  an"  every  thin'  good  an' 
comfortable,  an'  I  think  what  a  thing  I  was.  an'  what  the  Lord 
gives  me  now.  Want  to  know  how  I  started  bein'  a  drunken 
bummer!  Lemonade  with  a  stick  in  it.  That's  the  way  I  be- 
gun, an"  then  I  wanted  me  stick  bigger;  an'  soon  I  wanted  it 
straight.  I  tell  ye  I  got  to  be  deader'n  Lazarus,  but  God  lifted 
me  out  of  that  grave  an'  saved  me.  Xone  of  me  people  would 
look  at  me.  I  disgraced  'em  all.  Me  sister  becro-ed  me  to  clear 
out  an'  not  bring  no  more  shame  on  'em,  an'  me  mother  the 
same.  I'd  a  patch  on  me  nose  the  year  round,  an'  a  black  eye, 
too;  sometimes  a  pair  of  'em.  Get  into  a  fight  an'  smash 
things.  Turn  off  the  gas  for  fun,  an'  then  break  chairs  an' 
everythin'  else.  Get  taken  up  an'  off  to  the  station-house. 
Next  mornin'  to  the  Tombs.  '  Ten  days,  yonng  man.'  '  Six 
months,  young  man.'  Xice  kind  o'  fun,  wasn't  it  \  Now  it's 
done  with,  an'  the  worst  of  it  is  I'm  most  done  with,  too.  I 
spent  the  best  o'  my  life  in  deviltry,  an'  now,  when  I  want  to 
live  an'  bring  souls  to  Christ,  I've  got  to  go  before  very  long. 
But  as  long  as  I've  got  a  breath  I'll  say  this  one  thing:  that 
there  ain't  one  of  you  so  far  gone  but  that  Jesus  will  save  you 
an'  make  a  new  man  of  you.  I  want  each  man  o'  you  that's 
tired  o'  just  roughin'  it  to  come  up  here  an'  be  prayed  for.  I 
used  to  say  why  did  God  make  me  a  loafer  an'  put  me  in  a 
hell  on  earth  \  I've  held  up  me  hands  an'  cursed  Him  because 
I  was  a  drunkard  an'  a  thief.  But  it  come  over  me  at  last.  He 
hadn't  done  it.  I'd  done  it  mesdf.  "Where  was  me  common 
sense  ? 

''There's  many  come  in  here  that  say.  'Oh.  I'm  too  bad. 
God  wouldn't  give  me  a  show.'  That's  a  big  mistake.  God 
takes  what  the  devil  would  almost  turn  up  his  nose  at.     I  know 


64  HARD   HEARTS   SOFTENED. 

a  man  that  come  in  here  to  lick  another  for  sayin'  '  Jesus  saves 
me.'  What  do  you  think?  Jesus  saved  that  very  man  him- 
self. He  came  along  lookin'  for  fight,  but  the  starch  was 
knocked  out  o'  him.  He  went  away  that  night  like  a  cur  in  a 
sack,  tremblin'  all  over,  but  he's  a  good  man  now.  Come  now, 
you  men  over  there,  an'  all  o'  you ;  stan'  up  an'  be  prayed  for. 
Oh,  won't  you  stan'  up  an'  be  prayed  for  ? " 

"This  loving  Saviour  stands  patiently"  sounds  from  the 
organ,  and  all  are  on  their  feet  as  the  refrain  comes  full  and 

clear : 

"Calling  now  to  thee,  prodigal, 
Calling  now  to  thee  ; 
Thou  has  wandered  far  away, 
But  he's  calling  now  to  thee." 

The  old  man  in  front  had  listened  intently,  and  rose  at 
once,  falling  on  his  knees  and  covering  his  face.  The  bench 
filled,  another  had  to  be  vacated  before  all  could  find  place. 
Jerry's  face  glowed,  and  so  did  that  of  his  wife  as  she  led 
forward  the  last  candidate,  a  sailor-boy  of  eighteen  or  twenty. 
Both  prayed  with  an  intensity  of  earnestness  that  no  repetition 
seemed  ever  able  to  lessen.  Then  came  the  prayer  from  each 
one  of  the  kneeling  figures,  broken  by  sobs,  or  murmured  so 
that  none  could  hear,  yet  fervent  and  far-reaching  beyond  any 
word  in  their  past  lives  ;  the  first  conscious  appeal  to  the  mys- 
terious power  working  in  and  for  them.  Then  all  rose  to  their 
places,  and  Jerry  hesitated  a  moment  as  he  saAV  the  twinkling 
eyes  of  the  old  sailor  fixed  full  upon  him,  then  turned  to  the 
other  end  of  the  bench.  One  or  two  refused  to  speak,  but  the 
majority  rose  at  once,  and  declared  their  intention  to  lead  a 
better  life,  one  man  laughing  with  purest  happiness  as  he 
said : 

"  I  tell  ye,  my  friends,  I  can't  hardly  hold  in.  I  was  that 
down  when  I  come  up  here  I  jest  wished  the  floor'd  open  an' 
take  me  in,  an'  when  I  said  jest  now,  '  Lord  Jesus,  do  take  my 
wicked  soul  an'  show  me  how  to  do  different,'  seemed  like  as 
if  a  door  opened  an'  I  seen  sunshine,  an'  my  trouble  jest  went. 
Oh,  how  I  feel!" 

At  last  the  old  man  was  reached. 


PRAYERS   OF   FAITH   AND    HOPE. 

"  Do  you  feel  you  are  a  great  sinner?"  asked  Jerry,  and  tin* 
whole  bench  turned,  as  the  answer  came  with  prompt  distinct- 
tie  s: 

••  Never  sinned  in  me  life." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

-I  mean  what  I  say.  I  ain't  a  thief  nor  a  blackguard.  I 
hain't  been  in  prison.  The  most  I've  done  ain't  much.  Moughl 
'a'  told  a  lee,  now  an'  again  ;  mought  'a'  told  a  lee,  but  it  was 
for  fun.     Never  sinned  in  me  life." 

"Do  you  want  to  be  saved?  Do  you  believe  you  can  be 
saved?" 

"To  be  sure,  an'  why  not?"  returned  the  old  man,  in  a 
Irish  interrogative  kev,  and  Jerrv,  who  saw  he  was  too  drunk 
to  be  responsible,  turned  to  the  next  candidate,  a  most  hard- 
ened-looking-man,  who  had  been  urged  forward,  and  who  had 
dropped  on  his  knees  and  burst  into  tears,  burying  his  face  in 
his  arms.  Mrs.  McAuley  had  left  her  place  and  kneeled  be- 
side him.  It  was  a  prayer  of  utter  faith  that  came  from  her 
lips,  and  as  she  ended  and  said,  "Now  let  this  poor  soul  pray 
for  himself,"  the  answer  seemed  already  certain. 

"Oh,  Jesus,"  said  the  weeping  man,  "You  know  all  about 
it.  I'm  sick  o'  my  sins.  I  want  to  be  decent.  You  can  help 
me.     Don't  let  me  get  into  the  mud  again." 

"  I'm  too  bad  to  pray,"  said  the  next  one.     ik  I'm  afraid  to." 

"  That's  me,  too,"  said  his  neighbor. 

"  You're  none  o'  you  too  bad.  There's  no  such  thing  as  too 
bad,"  said  Jerry  earnestly.  "  'God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner,' 
is  all  you  want.     Try  it  now,  an'  you'll  see." 

His  full  face  turned  for  a  moment  toward  the  group  on  the 
platform.  Could  this  be  the  man  whose  coarse  features  car- 
ried such  seal  of  all  he  had  revealed  himself  to  be.  A  glorified 
face,  with  tender  eyes  as  ever  looked  on  human  pain.  A  face 
that  had  lost  the  brute  and  held  only  the  divine.  Such  a  look 
means  more  than  years  of  argument.  It  is  the  one  thing  that 
can  never  be  assumed.  The  men  who  met  it  held  out  their 
hands  as  if  he  had  power  to  lift  them  up,  and  who  shall  say 
he  had  not?     One  by  one,  as   they  took  their  places  on  the 


6G  A  BRIGHT   SPOT    IN   WATER   STREET. 

bench,  avowed  their  determination  to  lead  a  new  life,  and 
through  the  deep  stillness  that  filled  the  room  came  murmured 
"  Thank  God's  I"  from  men  and  women  who  had  known  the 
same  bitter  repentance  and  felt  the  same  power  at  work. 

"  We'll  pray  for  you,"  said  Jerry.  "  Keep  comin',  an'  we'll 
do  you  good." 

Nine  o'clock  struck.  Another  hymn,  and  then  all  sang 
together,  "  Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow." 

Mrs.  McAuley  had  passed  down  to  the  door  and  stood  there 
to  shake  hands  and  speak  a  word  of  greeting  or  encourage- 
ment. Men  flocked  about  the  new  converts,  offering  help.  All 
were  chatting  like  close  friends.  Jerry  stood  smiling,  but  said 
little.  It  was  plain  now,  as  one  looked  at  him  critically,  that 
the  long  years  of  indulgence  and  crime  had  undermined  the 
powerful  constitution,  and  that  disease  was  at  work. 

"  Every  night  in  the  week  an'  twice  for  a  Sunday,"  he  said 
to  me.  "  What  do  you  think  o'  that  for  a  steady  diet  ?  It 
never  sickens  on  me,  I  can  tell  you  that.  For  all  the  sameness 
it's  never  the  same.     Come  up  an'  see  the  home  we've  got." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  second  floor,  —  a  comfortable,  prettily 
furnished  flat,  exquisitely  neat,  and  full  of  home-like  feeling. 
Above  it  was  an  open  attic,  which  they  planned  to  some  day 
partition  into  rooms  for  larger  work.  Half  a  dozen  bird-cages 
were  here,  holding  cardinal  and  mocking-birds,  which  Jerry  de- 
lighted in  training.  In  the  windows  geraniums  and  heliotropes 
were  growing.  Could  this  be  Water  Street,  and  what  hint  of 
the  foulness  in  which  both  had  lived  was  in  these  faces  alight 
with  love  and  tenderness  ?  It  is  that  memory  that  stays  with 
all  who  loved  the  man  now  gone  to  well-earned  rest,  and  who, 
as  the  Sunday  service  ended,  said  in  tired  but  happy  voice: 
"It's  a  tired  body,  sure  enough,  but  rest  is  comin',  an'  it 
will  be  sweet.  I  can't  sing  any  more,  an'  I  do  miss  it.  One 
lung  is  all  gone,  they  say,  an'  the  other  goin'.  There's  only 
one  thing  I  pray  for.  Day  an'  night  I  ask  —  an'  it'll  be 
granted,  too  —  that  there'll  be  one  to  take  me  place,  an'  do 
better  for  'em  all  than  ever  I've  had  the  sense  to  do.  For 
forty  heads  plannin'  and  forty  hearts  achin'  at  once  for  the 


THE   EMPTY    ARM-CHAIR. 

sorrow  of  it  all  ain't  a  beginning  o'  what  is  needed,  an'  so  it's 
lucky  the  Lord's  got  it  all  in  charge,  an'  I  don't  need  to  fret." 

There  is  no  one  to  till  his  place  in  precisely  the  same  way, 
nor  could  there  well  be,  since  in  thought  and  purpose  he  Was 
unique.    But  men  whom  he  had  trained  are  there  still.     The 

street  has  been  made  over  as  nearly  as  its  nature  permits. 
Rookeries  have  given  place  to  model  tenements.  One  of 
the  worst  houses  —  Gotham  Court  —  is  now  a  model  one. 
There  is  work  still  to  be  done,  and  must  be  for  many  a  year,  since 
the  saloon,  the  sailors'  boarding-house,  and  many  a  hidden  den 
are  there.  But  hundreds  of  sad,  despairing  souls  have4  found 
hope  and  a  new  purpose  within  the  walls  of  the  little  Mission  ; 
and  in  all  the  work  of  this  order  going  on  at  many  points, 
nothing  holds  quite  so  distinct  a  place  as  that  of  Water  Street, 
where  the  memory  of  its  founder  will  be  kept  green  until  the 
end.  As  in  Jerry's  time,  a  corps  of  advisers,  prominent  among 
the  wealthy  business  men  of  New  York,  watch  the  course  of 
the  work,  and  take  their  turn  in  leading  meetings  and  doing 
the  incidental  work  of  the  mission.  Whoever  has  any  curiosity 
as  to  a  Sunday  in  Water  Street  may  still  hear  strange  experi- 
ences, and  find  tears  and  smiles  are  very  near,  as  one  listens. 
But  the  empty  arm-chair  tells  its  story  of  a  loss  hardly  to  be 
made  up,  though  often  one  fancies  a  familiar  presence  there, 
and  hears  once  more  the  pathetic  voice  that  to  the  last  had 
only  promise  and  cheer  for  all  alike. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

CHRISTIAN  WORK  IN  WATER  STREET  — THE  STORY  OF  JERRY 
McAULEY'S  LIFE  TOLD  BY  HIMSELF  — A  CAREER  OF  WICK- 
EDNESS AND  CRIME  — THE  MISSION  NOW. 

The  Historic  Five  Points  —  Breeding-Ground  of  Crime  —  Dirty  Homes  and 
Hard  Faces—/'  The  Kind  God  Don't  Want  and  the  Devil  Won't  Have" 
—  Jerry  McAuley  — The  Story  of  His  Life  Told  by  Himself  — Born  in 
a  New  York  Slum  —  A  Loafer  by  Day  and  a  River  Thief  by  Night  — 
Prizefighter,  Drunkard,  Blackleg,  and  Bully  —  A  Life  of  Wickedness 
and  Crime  —  Fifteen  Years  in  Prison  —  His  Prison  Experiences  —  Un- 
expected Meeting  with  "Awful"  Gardner  —  Jerry's  First  Prayer — He 
Hears  a  Voice  —  Released  from  Prison  —  His  Return  to  Old  Haunts 
and  Ways  —  Signing  the  Pledge  —  His  Wife  —  Starting  the  Water  Street 
Mission  —  An  Audience  of  Tramps  and  Bums  —  Becomes  an  Apostle  to 
the  Roughs  —  Jerry's  Death  —  Affecting  Scenes  —  Old  Joe  Chappy  —  The 
Hadley  Brothers  —  A  Mother's  Last  Words  —  A  Refuge  for  the  Wicked 
and  Depraved. 

THE  Five  Points  was  once  the  terror  of  every  policeman,  as 
well  as  of  every  decent  citizen  who  realized  its  existence. 
It  was  for  years  the  breeding-ground  of  crime  of  every  order, 
and  thus  the  first  workers  in  City  Mission  work  naturally 
turned  to  it  as  the  chief  spot  for  purification.  Here  the  Water 
Street  Mission  was  begun  just  after  the  Civil  War,  and  here  it 
still  continues  its  work.  Its  story  has  often  been  told,  yet  the 
interest  in  it  seems  no  less  fresh  than  at  the  time  of  its  incep- 
tion. For  years  it  was  headed  by  Jerry  McAuley,  a  man  whose 
absolutely  unique  personality  has  stamped  itself  forever  in  the 
minds  of  all  who  dealt  with  him  in  person.  It  is  to  him  that 
every  mission  of  the  same  general  order  owes  its  standard  of 
effort,  and  the  knowledge  of  methods  without  which  such  work 
is  powerless ;  and  though  personally  he  never  claimed  this 
place,  all  who  knew  him  would  accord  it  unhesitatingly. 

I  have  often  talked  with  Jerry  and  his  wife  on  the  origin  of 

(68) 


A   VISIT   TO   JERRY'S   HOME.  69 

the  work,  their  personal  share  in  it,  and  the  effect  produced  in 
the  neighborhood,  —  its  present  vileness  being  peace  and  inno- 
cence compared  with  its  condition  when  Jerry  began  his  work 
there.  The  second  floor  of  the  Mission  building  was  their 
home,  —  a  comfortable,  prettily-furnished  flat,  exquisitely  neat, 
and  with  a  homelike  feeling  not  always  had  in  statelier  places, 
—  and  1  was  always  greeted  with  a  warmth  and  courtesy  that 
absolved  me  at  once  from  the  guilt  of  intrusion. 

"  Come  again.  Come  as  often  as  you  like,"  Jerry  would  say 
in  his  hearty  way  each  time  I  took  my  leave.  "  I'll  tell  you 
anything  you'd  like  to  know,  though  if  I  talk  the  rest  o'  me 
life  I  couldn't  tell  all  the  stories  I  know  nor  the  sights  I've 
seen." 

I  did  "come  again"  and  again,  at  last  taking  my  place 
among  the  "  regulars ,"  as  the  few  were  called  who  had  stated 
employment  and  came  constantly.  With  my  own  eyes  I  saw 
men  who  had  come  into  the  Mission  sodden  with  drink  turn 
into  quiet,  steady  workers.  Xow  and  then  one  fell,  —  in  one 
case  permanently ;  hut  the  prodigals  commonly  returned  con- 
fessing their  weakness  and  laboring  earnestly  to  prove  their 
penitence.  I  sawr  foul  homes,  where  dirty  bundles  of  straw 
had  been  the  only  bed,  gradually  become  clean  and  respect- 
able ;  hard  faces  grow  patient  and  gentle  ;  oaths  and  foul  words 
give  place  to  quiet  speech. 

It  is  for  Jerry,  then,  to  tell  the  story,  taken  almost  verbatim 
from  his  own  lips,  and  given  with  all  its  personal  details  as  one 
of  the  most  Avonderful  in  the  history  of  crime,  or  the  story  of 
the  poor  born  to  life  in  a  Xew  York  slum.  Words  can  never 
hold  the  pathos,  the  tenderness,  the  strength,  the  quick-flashing 
Irish  humor  which  made  him  the  power  that  he  was,  and  that, 
even  with  a  weakened  body  fast  failing  to  meet  the  demands 
made  upon  it,  still  rendered  him  the  most  wonderful  of  apostles 
to  the  roughs.  He  told  the  story  to  me  in  a  long  afternoon  in 
the  old  Mission,  from  which  he  soon  after  removed  to  the 
Cremorne  Mission,  begun  by  himself  and  wife,  and  where  he 
shortly  afterwards  died. 

The  Water  Street  work  was  left  in  the  hands  of  one  of  his 

5 


70  JERRY   TELLS   THE   STORY   OF   HIS   LIFE. 

own  converts,  and  still  goes  on  in  the  same  lines ;  and  these 
two  Missions  may  be  said  to  do  the  most  distinctive  work  in 
the  city.  Water  Street  and  its  up-town  prototype,  the  Cremorne 
Mission,  are  of  the  same  order,  and  each  is  unique  in  its  way. 
There  are  others,  most  of  them  connected — as  is  that  of  the 
Madison  Square  Mission  —  with  some  special  church.  All  have 
their  own  interest  and  deserve  full  recognition,  but  they  lack 
the  distinctive  quality  given  by  Jerry  McAuley  and  his  wife. 
Her  personality  is  as  much  a  part  of  the  work  as  was  his,  and 
her  story  is  also  part  of  his. 

"  There's  •  two  sides  to  this  thing,"  Jerry  began,  throwing 
himself  back  in  the  big  arm-chair,  from  which  he  rose  at  inter- 
vals to  walk  restlessly  up  and  down.  "  Folks  mostly  seem  to 
think  there  ain't  but  one.  It  was  only  last  night  a  fellow  come 
in  here  ripe  for  a  row.  You've  never  happened  to  see  an  out- 
an-out  rough  spillin'  over  with  fight,  an'  bound  to  make  some- 
thin'  fly  before  he's  through.  More  of  his  sort  used  to  bother 
us  than  do  now ;  an'  it's  lucky,  too,  for  the  time  when  I  could 
just  take  any  one  of  'em  up  by  the  scruff  o'  the  neck  an'  drop 
'im  out  on  the  sidewalk  just  like  you'd  drop  a  strange  cat  is 
pretty  well  over  with  me.  But  this  fellow  come  in  last  night 
an'  sat  awhile,  an'  I  was  try  in'  to  think  just  where  I'd  seen 
him,  an'  couldn't  for  the  life  o'  me,  till  he  rose  up  with  a  sort 
of  a  sneery  smile,  an'  then  I  minded  well  enough  where  we'd 
met,  —  in  Sing  Sing,  an'  he  working  at  the  loom  next  to  me. 

"  He  went  on  so  with  his  sneery  talk  'twas  hard  for  me  to 
make  out  if  he  was  in  earnest  or  not,  —  sayin'  how  he  remem- 
bered me  in  times  way  back,  an'  the  way  I  used  to  look,  an' 
how  well  set  up  I  seemed  to  be  now,  with  me  fine  coat  an' 
good  clothes  all  through,  an'  just  lickin'  me  chops  to  think  what 
a  comfortable,  easy  time  I  was  havin',  an'  a  chucklin'  to  meself 
every  time  I  told  the  life  I'd  led. 

" '  You're  off  there,'  says  I,  risin'  up  so  sudden  that  he 
jumped ;  he  thought  maybe  I  was  goin'  to  hit  him.  '  Yes, 
you're  off  there.  There's  many  a  one  says  I  loves  to  tell  the 
story  of  me  own  life,  an'  I  tell  you  an'  them,  as  I've  often  said 
before,  there's  nothin'  I  wouldn't  do,  if  I  could  see  me  way 


MEETING   AN   OLD   ACQUAINTANCE.  71 

clear,  never  to  tell  it  again  in  this  world.  Do  you  suppose  if  a 
man  was  set  up  to  his  neck  in  a  sewer,  an'  kept  there  months 
an'  years,  he'd  be  chucklin'  over  it  when  he  got  out  \  Faith, 
not!  He'd  be  apt  to  keep  quiet,  unless  he  saw  some  other  fel- 
low steppin'  into  the  same  place,  an'  then,  if  he'd  the  heart  of 
a  grasshopper,  he'd  warn  him  off.  Do  you  think  I'll  ever  stop 
rememberin'  that  well-nigh  thirty  years  o'  my  life  have  gone 
in  deviltry,  an'  no  help  for  it  ?  The  only  comfort  I  take  is  in 
thinkin'  that  if  I  hadn't  been  the  devil's  own  all  that  time,  I'd 
never  know  now  how  to  feel  for  them  that's  in  his  clutch  yet. 
He's  a  mighty  tight  grip  on  you,  me  friend,  an'  many  a  one 
like  you,  an1  you'd  better  come  up  in  front  an'  let  every  soul 
pray  hard  that  you  may  find  it  out  for  yourself.' 

"He  made  for  the  door  then,  an'  won't  come  back  in  a 
hurry.  I  know  his  kind.  It's  a  kind  God  don't  want  and  the 
devil  won't  have.  God  forgive  me  for  sayin'  so,  but  you'd 
think  so  too,  maybe,  if  you'd  had  'em  to  deal  with  an'  could 
never  be  just  certain  whether  they  had  a  soul  or  not.  I  used 
to  say  they  had,  an'  must  be  worked  over,  an'  I  don't  say  now 
they  haven't ;  only  there's  others  more  promisin'  to  spend  your 
strength  on,  an'  I've  had  to  learn  to  let  his  kind  mostly  alone. 
The  Lord  knows.  He  made  'em,  an'  may  be  He'll  find  out  a 
way  after  a  while.  But  it's  a  poor  show  for  me  to  be  doubtin' 
about  any  human  bein'  when  I've  got  meself  to  remember." 

Jerry  was  silent,  and  for  a  few  moments  paced  restlessly 
up  and  down  the  floor  of  the  great  room  over  the  Mission  —  a 
room  which  some  day  is  to  make  a  temporary  home  for  some 
of  the  many  who,  if  kept  from  old  haunts  for  even  a  few  days, 
would  gain  a  strength  attainable  in  no  other  way.  Then,  as 
now,  it  was  simply  an  unpartitioned  space,  far  enough  above 
the  street  to  hold  a  little  sense  of  quiet.  Ivies  ran  over  the 
windows,  and  the  cages  of  two  pet  mocking-birds  were  there, 
—  birds  that  twittered  restlessly  as  the  tall  figure  passed  by, 
and  chirped  impatiently  for  recognition.  It  came  in  a  mo- 
ment. The  doors  of  the  cages  Avere  opened  and  the  pretty 
creatures  perched  on  Jerry's  arm  and  thrust  their  heads 
into  his  pockets  for  crumbs.     Jerry's  face  cleared.     From  some 


72  jerry's  boyhood  home. 

corner  a  wriggling  meal-worm  was  produced,  and  a  mock  quar- 
rel began,  the  birds  making  fierce  little  dashes  at  the  worm 
and  at  each  other,  and  securing  the  morsel  at  last  with  a 
triumphant  whistle,  followed  by  a  flood  of  pure  clear  song. 

"  There's  heaps  o'  satisfaction  in  the  creatures,"  Jerry  said 
as  he  returned  them  to  the  cages  and  sat  down  before  them. 
"Many's  the  time  I  come  here  'most  gone  from  tiredness  in 
the  meetin's,  an'  they  rest  me  so  I  can  go  at  it  again.  I  never 
knew  I  had  a  knack  for  'em  an'  could  learn  'em  anything,  till 
one  was  give  me,  an'  I  began  of  meself.  It's  the  same  way 
with  flowers.  They're  good  friends  o'  mine  now,  but  it's 
strange  to  think  o'  the  years  I  hardly  knew  there  was  such  a 
thing  in  the  world.  I  can  look  back  now  an'  think  how 
things  were  in  Ireland,  but  I'd  no  sense  of  'em  then.  It  was  a 
pretty  country,  but  me  an'  mine  had  small  business  in  it  but 
to  break  the  laws  an'  then  curse  the  makers  of  'em.  You 
want  to  know  all  about  it,  an'  I'll  tell  you  now,  for  there'll 
never  be  a  better  time. 

The  Stoey  of  Jerry  McAuley's  Life. 

Me  father  was  a  counterfeiter,  an'  ran  away  from  justice 
before  ever  I  can  remember  him.  There  was  a  lot  of  us,  an' 
they  put  me  with  me  grandmother.  She  was  old  an'  a  devout 
Eomanist,  an'  many's  the  time  when  she  was  tellin'  her  beads  an' 
kissing  the  floor  for  penance,  I'd  shy  things  at  her  just  to  hear 
her  curse  an'  swear  at  me,  an'  then  she'd  back  to  her  knees. 
I'd  got  well  beyond  her  or  anybody  by  the  time  I  was  thirteen. 
They  let  me  run  loose.  I'd  no  schoolin',  an'  got  blows  for 
meat  and  drink  till  I  wished  meself  dead  many  a  time.  I 
thought  could  I  only  get  to  me  sister  in  America  I'd  be  near 
the  same  as  in  Paradise,  when  all  at  once  they  sent  me  to  her, 
an'  for  a  while  I  ran  errands  an'  helped  me  brother-in-law. 
But  I  was  tall  o'  my  years  an'  strong,  an'  had  no  fear  for  any 
man  livin',  an'  a  born  thief  as  well,  that  stealin'  came  nateral 
an'  easy;  an'  soon  I  was  in  a  den  on  Water  Street  learnin' 
to  be  a  prize-fighter,  an'  with  a  boat  on  the  river  for  thievin' 
at  night.     By  this  time  I  was  nineteen,  an'  I  don't  suppose  a 


SENTENCED   TO   SING-SING  PKISON.  73 

bigger  nuisance  an5  loafer  ever  stepped  above  ground.  I  made 
good  hauls,  for  the  river  police  didn't  amount  to  much  in  them 
days,  an'  it  was  pretty  easy  to  board  a  vessel  an'  take  what 
you  pleased.  The  Fourth  Ward  belonged  to  my  kind.  It's  had 
enough  now,  but  it's  heaven  to  what  it  was  then. 

Now,  I'd  done  enough  to  send  me  to  prison  forty  times 
over,  an'  I  knew  it,  but  that  didn't  make  it  any  easier  to  go 
there  for  something  I  hadn't  done.  A  crime  was  sworn  on  me 
by  some  that  hated  me  bad  an'  wanted  me  out  o'  the  way. 
Fifteen  years  in  prison !  That  was  the  sentence  I  got,  an'  I 
not  twenty  years  old.  That  hour  goin'  up  the  river  was  the 
toughest  I'd  ever  come  to.  I  was  mad  with  rage,  but  hand- 
cuffed and  forced  to  keep  quiet.  It  was  in  me  mind  to  kill 
me  keeper,  an'  I  marked  him  then,  '  Wait,'  said  I  to  meself , 
'  I'll  be  even  with  you  some  day  if  I  have  to  hang  for  it.'  An' 
when  I  put  on  the  prison  dress  an'  they  shut  me  in,  I  knocked 
me  head  agin  the  wall,  an'  if  I  dared  I  would  a'  killed  meself. 
At  last  I  made  up  me  mind  I'd  obey  rules  an'  see  if  I  couldn't 
get  pardoned  out,  or  maybe  there'd  come  a  chance  of  escape, 
an'  I  set  me  mind  toward  that. 

I  tried  it  for  two  years ;  learned  to  read,  and  had  a  pile  o' 
cheap  novels  they  let  us  buy ;  an'  I  learned  carpet-wreavin', 
an'  no  one  had  a  word  to  say  agin  me.  But  then  I  grew 
weakly.  I'd  been  used  to  the  open  air  always,  an'  a  shut-in 
life  told  upon  me.  Then  I  got  ugly  an'  thought  it  w^as  no  use, 
an'  then  they  punished  me.  Do  you  know  what  that  is  ?  It's 
the  leather  collar  that  holds  an'  galls  you,  an'  you  strapped 
up  by  the  arms  with  your  toes  just  touchin'  the  floor  ;  an'  it's 
the  shower-bath  that  leaves  you  in  a  dead  faint  till  another 
dash  brings  you  out.  I've  stood  it  all  an'  cursed  God  while  I 
did.  I  was  that  desperate  I  would  have  killed  the  keeper,  but 
I  saw  no  chance  out  even  if  I  did. 

It  was  one  Sunday  morning.  I'd  been  in  prison  five  years. 
I  dragged  meself  into  the  chapel  an'  sat  down.  Then  I  heard 
a  voice  I  knew,  an'  I  looked  up.  There  by  the  chaplain  was  a 
man  I'd  been  on  a  spree  with  many  an'  many  a  time, —  Orville 
Gardner.     He  stepped  down  off  the  platform.     "My  men," 


74  FIRST   MEETING  WITH    "AWFUL "   GARDNER. 

says  he,  "  I've  no  right  anywhere  but  among  you,  for  I've  been 
one  of  you  in  sin,"  an'  then  he  prayed,  till  there  wasn't  a  dry 
eye  there  but  mine,  —  I  was  that  'shamed  to  be  seen  cryin',  but 
I  looked  at  him  an'  wondered  what  had  come  to  him  to  make 
him  so  different.  He  said  a  verse  that  struck  me,  an'  when  I 
got  into  me  cell  again  I  took  down  the  Bible  an'  began  to  hunt 
for  it.  I  read  awhile  till  I  found  somethin'  that  hit  the  Catho- 
lics, I  thought;  an'  I  pitched  me  Bible  down  an'  kicked  it  all 
round  the  cell.  "  The  vile  heretics ! "  I  says.  "  That's  the  way 
they  show  up  the  Catholics,  is  it  ? "  It  was  the  verse  that  says : 
'  Now  the  Spirit  speaketh  expressly,  that  in  the  latter  times 
some  shall  depart  from  the  faith,  giving  heed  to  seducing  spirits 
and  doctrines  of  devils ;  having  their  conscience  seared  with  a 
hot  iron,  forbidding  to  marry  and  commanding  to  abstain  from 
meats  which  God  hath  created  to  be  received  with  thanksgiving 
of  them  which  believe  and  know  the  truth.' 

"  I'll  have  a  Catholic  Bible,"  says  I,  "  an'  not  this  thing  that 
no  decent  Catholic  would  touch  Avith  a  ten-foot  pole."  So  I 
got  me  a  Catholic  Bible  from  the  library,  but  it  was  pretty 
much  the  same,  only  more  lumbered  up  with  notes.  I  read 
'em  both,  an'  the  more  I  read  the  more  miserable  I  was. 

I  wanted  to  be  different.  I  thought  about  the  new  look  in 
Gardner's  face.  "What  makes  it?"  says  I,  "an'  if  he's  differ- 
ent, why  can't  I  be  ?  Now  if  I  send  for  the  priest,  hell  set  me 
to  doin'  penance  an'  sayin'  so  many  prayers,  an'  all  such  like. 
The  chaplain  says  I'm  to  be  sorry  for  me  sins  an'  ask  God  to 
forgive  me.     Which  is  the  way,  I  wonder?" 

You  wouldn't  think  I'd  'a'  minded,  but  if  ten  thousand  peo- 
ple had  been  in  me  cell  I  couldn't  'a'  felt  worse  about  pray  in*'. 
I  kneeled  down,  blushin'  that  hot  as  I'd  never  done  in  me  life 
before,  an'  then  I'd  up  agin ;  an'  that's  the  way  it  was  three  or 
four  weeks  till  I  was  just  desperate.  Then  there  come  a  night 
when  I  said  I'd  pray  till  some  sense  come  to  me,  an'  if  it  didn't 
I'd  never  pray  again.  I  was  that  weak  an'  trembly  I  seemed 
as  if  I  could  die  easy  enough.  I  knelt  there  an'  waited  between 
the  times  I  prayed.  I  wouldn't  stir  from  me  knees.  Me  eyes 
were  shut.    I  was  in  an  agony,  an'  the  sweat  rollin'  from  me 


jerky's  first  prayer.  ',■> 

face  in  big  drops,  an'  "God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner"  came 
from  me  lips.     Then,  in  a  minute,  something  seemed  to  be  by 

me.     I  heard  a  voice,  or  felt  I  beard  one  plain  enough.     It  said, 
"My  son,  thy  sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven." 

To  the  day  o'  me  death  I'll  think  I  saw  a  light  about  me 
an5  smelled  somethin'  sweet  as  flowers  in  the  cell.  I  didn't 
know  if  I  was  alive  or  not.  I  shouted  out,  '-Oh,  praise  God  ! 
praise  God  I" 

"  Shut  your  noise,"  the  guard  said,  going  by.  "  What's  the 
matter  with  you?" 

"  I've  found  Christ,''  I  says.     "  Me  sins  are  all  forgiven  me." 

"  I'll  report  you/'  says  he,  an'  he  took  me  number,  but  he 
didn't  report  me. 

Well,  then,  seem'  how  it  had  come  to  me,  I  began  to  pray 
for  others.  I  was  quiet  an5  content  all  the  time,  an'  I  believed 
if  it  was  good  for  me,  God'd  find  a  way  to  let  me  out  o1  prison. 
I  didn't  pray  for  it  for  two  years,  but  just  worked  there  to  save 
others,  an'  many  a  one  turned  to  a  new  life  an'  stuck  to  it. 

Then  at  last  come  a  pardon  when  I'd  been  in  seven  years 
an'  six  months  just,  an'  I  came  back  down  the  river  to  New- 
York. 

There  was  never  a  lonesomer  man  alive.  I  wouldn't  go 
back  to  the  Fourth  Ward,  for  fear  I'd  be  tempted,  an'  so  I 
wandered  round  try  in'  for  work,  till  one  day  I  met  a  friend, 
an'  he  took  me  to  a  lager-beer  saloon.  Lager-beer  had  come 
up  since  I  went  up  the  river.  I  didn't  know  it  was  any  more 
hurt  than  root-beer ;  they  said  it  wasn't.  But  that  first  night 
did  for  me.  Me  head  got  in  a  buzz,  an'  in  a  week  or  two  I 
wanted  somethin'  stronger.  I  got  work  in  a  hat-shop,  an'  had 
good  wages,  but  a  strike  come,  an'  I  led  it  an'  lost  the  place. 
It  was  war  time,  an'  I  went  into  the  bounty  business  —  a  ras- 
cally business  too.  Then  I  had  a  boat  on  the  river  again.  I'd 
buy  stolen  goods  of  the  sailors,  an'  then  make  'em  enlist  for 
fear  o'  bein'  arrested,  an'  I  took  the  bounty.  The  end  o'  the 
war  stopped  this,  an'  then  I  stuck  to  the  river,  buyin'  and  sellin' 
smuggled  goods  an'  payin'  all  I  could  in  counterfeit  money. 
Do  you  remember  when  the  Idaho  burned  in  the  East  River? 


76  A  MYSTERIOUS  VOICE. 

Me  an'  me  partners  rowed  out,  —  not  to  save  life,  but  to  rob ; 
but  when  we  saw  'em  screamin'  in  the  water  we  turned  to  an' 
helped  'em,  though  one  o'  me  partners  in  the  boat  said  we'd 
make  a  pile  pickin'  up  coats  an'  hats. 

Often  an'  often  I  was  shot  at.  Do  you  think  I  didn't  re- 
member what  I'd  had  given  me,  an'  how  I'd  lost  it  ?  I  didn't 
pray,  I  didn't  dare  to.  I  kept  under  liquor  all  the  time  to  head 
off  thinkin',  for  I  said  God  was  done  with  me,  an'  I  was  bound 
for  hell  sure  an'  certain. 

About  this  time,  one  night  I'd  gone  over  to  Brooklyn  very 
drunk,  —  too  drunk  to  do  me  share  o'  the  work  we'd  laid  out 
for  that  night,  an'  as  me  partner  boarded  the  ship  we  were 
after  I  slipped  an'  fell  overboard  an'  went  under  like  a  shot. 
An  eddy  carried  me  off,  and  the  boat  went  another  way.  I 
knew  I  was  drownin',.  for  I  went  down  twice,  an'  in  me  ex- 
tremity I  called  on  God  though  I  felt  too  mean  to  do  it.  It 
seemed  as  if  I  was  lifted  up  an'  the  boat  brought  to  me.  I  got 
hold  of  it  somehow,  I  don't  just  know  how.  The  water  had 
sobered  me.  When  I  Avas  in  it,  I  heard,  plain  as  if  a  voice 
spoke  to  me,  "  Jerry,  you've  been  saved  for  the  last  time.  Go 
out  on  that  river  agin  an'  you'll  never  have  another  chance." 

I  was  mad.  I  went  home  an'  drank  an'  drank  an'  drank. 
I  was  sodden  with  drink,  an'  as  awful  lookin'  a  case, —  more 
so,  than  you've  ever  laid  eyes  on.  An'  oh,  the  misery  o'  me 
thoughts.  It  was  the  John  Allen  excitement  then,  an'  I  heard 
the  singin'  an'  was  sick  with  rememberin',  an'  yet  drinkin'  day 
an'  night  to  drown  it  all. 

A  city  missionary  came  in  one  day  to  the  house  on  Cherry 
Street  where  I  boarded.  He  shied  a  bit  when  he  saw  me  at 
the  top  o'  the  stairs  —  a  head  like  a  mop,0  an'  an  old  red  shirt. 
He'd  been  pitched  down  stairs  by  fellers  like  me,  and  I'd  a 
done  it  meself  once.  I  hung  round  while  he  went  in  a  room, 
thinkin'  maybe  he  could  get  me  a  job  of  honest  work,  an'  when 
he  come  out  I  told  him  so.  He  asked  me  to  step  out  on  the 
pavement.  He  said  afterward  I  was  that  evil-lookin'  he  was 
afraid  o'  me,  an'  he  didn't  know  what  I  might  do.  So  out  on 
the  street  I  went,  an'  he   took  me  straight  to  the  Howard 


JERRY   MEETS   A  CITY   MISSIONARY.  77 

Mission,  an'  there  we  had  a  long  talk,  an'  a  gentleman  wanted 
me  to  sign  the  pledge.  "It's  no  use,"  says  I;  "I  shall  break 
it."  "Ask  God  t<>  keep  vou  from  breaking  it,"  he  said.  I 
thought  a  minute,  an'  then  I  signed  it  an5  went  home.  Me 
partner  was  there,  an'  he  laughed  himself  hoarse  when  I  told 
him.  He  had  a  hottle  o'  gin  in  his  hand  that  very  minute. 
"  You  !  "  he  says.  "  Here,  drink  !  "  I  took  the  glass  an' 
drank.  "  That's  the  last  glass  I'll  ever  take,"  says  I.  "  Yes," 
says  he,  "  till  the  next  one." 

I'd  hardly  swallowed  it  when  who  should  come  in  but  the 
missionary.  We  went  out  together,  an'  I  told  him  I  was  dead 
broke  an'  hungry,  an'  I  would  have  to  go  on  the  river  again 
once  more  anyhow.  "Jerry,"  says  he,  "before  you  shall  ever 
do  that  again  I'll  take  off  this  coat  an'  pawn  it."  The  coat 
was  thin  an'  old.  I  knew  he  was  poor,  an'  it  went  to  me  heart 
that  he'd  do  such  a  thing  as  that.  He  went  away  a  minute, 
an'  when  he  come  back  he  brought  me  fifty  cents.  An'  he 
kep'  on  helpin'.  He  followed  me  up  day  after  day,  an'  at  last 
one  night  at  his  house,  where  he'd  had  me  to  tea  an'  there  was 
singin'  and  prayin'  afterwards,  I  prayed  meself  once  more,  an' 
believed  I  should  be  forgiven.  There  wasn't  any  shoutin'  this 
time,  but  there  was  quiet  an'  peace. 

It  Avas  a  hard  pull.  I  got  work  now  and  then,  but  more 
often  not.  An'  then  everybody  thought  I  was  shammin' 
for  what  I  could  get  out  of  it.  I  didn't  wonder,  an'  I  helped  it 
along  by  doing  what  you'd  never  believe, —  I  caved  in  again. 
Three  times  I  was  drunk,  an'  do  you  know  what  did  it  ( 
Tobacco.  That's  why  I'm  so  down  on  tobacco  now.  Chew 
an'  smoke,  an'  there'll  be  a  steady  cravin'  for  somethin',  an' 
mostly  it  ends  in  whiskey.  A  man  that  honestly  wants  the 
Spirit  of  God  in  him  has  got  to  be  clean,  I  tell  you,  inside 
an'  out.  He's  got  to  shut  down  on  all  his  old  dirty  tricks, 
or  he's  gone.     That's  the  way  I  found  it. 

I  was  married  by  this  time  to  Maria,  an'  she's  been  God's 
help  from  that  day  to  this,  an'  often  we  talked  about  some  way 
to  get  at  the  poor  souls  in  the  Fourth  Ward.  We  were 
doin'  day's  work,  both  of  us,  an1  poor  as  poor  could  he.     But 


78  HOW  THE  WATER  STREET  MISSION  WAS   STARTED. 

we  said,  "Why  have  we  both  been  used  to  filth  an'  nastiness, 
an'  all  else,  if  not  so's  to  know  how  to  help  some  others  out  of 
it."  An'  one  day  I  had  a  sort  o'  vision.  I  thought  we  had 
a  house  in  the  Fourth  Ward,  an'  a  big  bath,  an'  a  stream 
o'  people  comin'  in.  I  washed  'em  outside  an'  the  Lord 
washed  'em  inside,  an'  I  cried  as  I  thought,  "  Oh,  if  I  could 
only  do  that  for  Jesus'  sake."  "  Do  it  for  one  if  you  can't  for 
more,"  said  Maria,  an'  that's  the  way  we  begun  in  an  old  rook- 
ery of  a  house,  in  one  room,  an'  a  little  sign  hung  out, 

"THE  HELPING  HAND  FOR  MEN." 

You'd  never  believe  how  many  that  sign  drew  in.  We  did 
what  we  could,  an'  when  Thanksgivin'  Day  came,  friends  gave 
us  a  good  dinner  for  all.  Afterwards  there  was  a  meet  in',  an' 
it  Avas  so  blessed  we  were  moved  to  say  they  should  all  come 
the  next  night.  From  that  day  to  this, —  first  in  the  old 
buildin',  an'  then  in  this,  the  new  one, —  there's  been  a  meetin' 
every  night  in  the  year,  an'  now  it's  hundreds, — yes,  thousands 

—  that  can  say  the  Water  Street  Mission  was  their  help  to 
a  new  life. 

Day  an'  night  we  work, — you  know  how.  My  life  is 
slowly  but  surely  goin'  from  me.  I  feel  it,  but  livin'  or  dyin' 
it's  the  Lord's.  All  these  years  He  has  held  me,  but  I  don't 
know  now  but  that  I'd  have  fallen  again  if  I  hadn't  been 
so  busy  holdin'  on  to  others.     An'  that's  the  way  to  keep  men, 

—  set  'em  to  work.  The  minute  they  say  they're  sick  o'  the 
old  ways,  start  'em  to  pull  in  somebody  else.  You  see  when 
your  soul  is  just  on  fire,  longin'  to  get  at  every  wretch  an' 
bring  him  into  the  fold,  there's  no  time  for  your  old  tricks,  an' 
no  wantin'  to  try  'em  again.  I  could  talk  a  month  tellin' 
of  one  an'  another  that's  been  here.  Oh,  there's  stories  if  one 
but  knew  'em  !  An'  not  a  day  that  you  don't  know  there  ain't 
a  bummer  in  the  Fourth  Ward  so  low  down  but  what  the  Lord 
can  pick  him  out  o'  the  gutter  an'  set  him  on  his  feet.  That's 
why  I  tell  me  story  an'  everthin'  right  out  an'  plain.  There's 
times  I'm  dead  sick  o'  rememberin'  it,  but  I  have  to  do  it, 
an'  them  very  times  seem  the  ones  that  help  most.     An'  as 


jerry's  death. —  his  last  prayer.  79 

long  as  tongue  can   move,  may   I  never  be  ashamed  to  tell 

what  I've  been  saved  from. 

This  was  Jerry's  story  in  the  days  in  which  Water  Street 
still  counted  him  its  peculiar  product  and  property.  Even  then 
his  eyes  had  turned  toward  a  haunt  of  vice  not  so  plain  to  the 
outward  eye,  but  as  full  of  need  as  any  den  in  the  lower  wards 
of  the  city,  the  Cremorne  Garden,  on  Thirty-second  Street.  To 
the  ordinary  passer-by  there  were  few  indications  that  the 
region  needed  him ;  but  Jerry  knew,  and  after  long  discussion 
and  much  opposition  the  Cremorne  Mission  was  opened  and  lie 
took  charge  of  the  work.  Such  a  life  as  Jerry  led  in  the  days 
of  his  wickedness  made  him  an  easy  prey  to  disease,  and  lie 
died  at  the  age  of  forty-five.  He  had  long  been  ailing  and 
knew  that  his  call  home  would  come  suddenly.  On  the  day 
previous  to  his  death  he  was  in  the  best  of  spirits.  That  night 
he  was  taken  with  a  severe  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs.  While 
expecting  every  moment  would  be  his  last,  he  said  in  an  almost 
inaudible  voice  to  one  of  the  converts  of  the  Mission,  pointing 
upwards  as  he  spoke,  "  It's  all  right."  He  was  too  weak  to  say 
more.    Another  hemorrhage  came,  and  his  spirit  took  its  flight. 

On  the  following  Sunday  afternoon  Broadway  Tabernacle 
was  thronged  by  a  vast  audience  assembled  to  pay  a  last  trib- 
ute of  respect  to  the  dead.  Hundreds  were  unable  to  obtain 
entrance.  Prominent  clergymen  conducted  the  solemn  and 
affecting  service,  and  the  Tabernacle  choir  sang  with  tender 
pathos, 

"We,  too,  must  come  to  the  river  side, 
One  by  one,  one  by  one  ; 
We're  nearer  its  brink  each  evening  tide, 
One  by  one,  one  by  one." 

For  two  hours  a  constant  stream  of  friends  passed  by  the 
coifin  to  take  a  last  look  at  Jerry's  face. 

During  the  services  a  gentleman  was  standing  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Tabernacle,  when  a  shabby-looking  old  man, 
wTho  had  been  lounging  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  ap- 
proached and  said : 


80  OLD  JOE   CHAPPY'S  TOUCHING  TRIBUTE. 

"  Beg  pardin',  sir,  -but  seein'  as  you  were  kinnected  here, 
and  seein'  as  how  I  ain't  posted  on  ways  and  things,  I  thought 
I'd  ask  you  a  favor." 

The  listener  was  turning  away,  expecting  an  untimely 
appeal  for  alms.  But  the  old  man  said,  "  I've  heerd  it's  the 
right  thing  to  send  flowers  and  sich  to  put  on  the  coffin  of  any 
one  who's  bin  good  to  you.  Well,  I  don't  know,  sir,  as  I've 
got  the  rights  of  it  or  not.  But  there's  somethin'  here  for 
Jerry." 

He  took  off  his  tall,  battered  hat  as  he  spoke,  and  felt  in  it 
with  trembling  fingers.  "  It  ain't  no  great  shakes,"  he  said, 
as  he  took  out  a  little  bunch  of  white  flowers.  Then  looking 
up,  as  though  to  read  in  the  face  of  his  listener  approval  or  dis- 
approval, he  went  on,  apologetically :  "  They're  no  great 
shakes,  I  allow,  and  I  'spect  they  mayn't  set  off  the  roses  and 
things  rich  people  send.  I'm  a  poor  man,  you  know,  but  when 
I  heerd  as  Jerry  was  gone,  I  gets  up  and  says  to  myself,  '  Go 
on  and  do  what's  fash'n'ble ;  that's  the  way  folks  do  when  they 
want  to  show  a  dead  man's  done  a  heap  for  'em.'  So  there 
they  are." 

They  were  handed  to  the  usher. 

"  And  when  you  drop  'em  with  the  rest,  though  they  ain't 
no  great  shakes,"  he  added,  with  the  old  apologetic  look, 
"  Jerry,  who  was  my  friend,  '11  know,"  and  his  voice  trembled ; 
"  he'll  know  they  come  from  old  Joe  Chappy." 

"  What  did  he  do  for  you  ? "  his  listener  ventured. 

"  A  great  deal,"  the  old  man  replied.  "  But  it's  long  ago 
now.  My  gal  had  gone  to  the  bad,  and  was  dyin'  without  ever 
a  bite  for  her  to  eat.  I  got  around  drunk,  but  it  sobered  me, 
and  I  hustled  about  to  hunt  up  some  good  man.  They  asked 
if  she  went  to  Sunday  School  and  all  that.  O'  course  she 
didn't.  How  cud  the  poor  gal  ?  Well,  they  called  her  names, 
sed  she  was  a  child  o'  wrath,  and  I  went  away  broken-hearted, 
when  I  come  acrost  Jerry,  and  he  went  home  with  me  and 
comforted  me,  and  he  sed  Almighty  God  wouldn't  be  rough  on 
a  poor  gal  what  didn't  know  no  better.  She  died  then,  but  I 
ain't  forgot  Jerry,  no,  nor  never  will." 


tin;  W'atfr  sTi:i;i;r  mission   now. 


81 


m 


\*  or  vHy 


The  poor  old  wreck  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  enter, 

and  the  crowd  was  so  great  that  the  little  bunch  of  flowers 

could  not  reach  the  casket.     The  choice  floral  emblems  that 

covered  Jerry's  eoiKn 

could    u«»t    be    sweeter   to 

the  dead  than  that  simple 

offering    of    a    bunch    of 

wilted  white  flowers. 

How  did  it  fare  with 
the  deserted  Mission  on 
Water  Street  after  Jerry 
gave  his  time  to  the  Cre- 
morne  Mission  is  often 
asked.  kk  Deserted  "  is  not 
the  word.  As  long  as  he 
lived  he  visited  it  often, 
and  there  was  no  altera- 
tion in  methods  and  only 
the  most  temporary  dimi- 
nution of  interest.  One  of 
the  most  earnest  workers 
in  the  old  Mission  took  en- 
tire charge,  but  another  whose  day  was  yet  to  come,  and  who 
stands  for  one  of  the  most  effectual  pieces  of  work  accom- 
plished in  the  Cremorne  Mission,  to-day  fills  Jerry's  place  in 
Water  Street  as  hardly  another  could  do.  The  story  of  Water 
Street  would  be  incomplete  without  some  portion  of  this  his- 
tory, as  unique  in  its  way  as  Jerry's. 

It  is  the  story  of  two,  not  one,  though  but  one  has  chosen 
Water  Street  as  his  field.  A  log  cabin  in  Ohio  was  the  home 
into  which  both  were  born,  but  it  was  a  cabin  like  many 
another  of  that  region, — the  home  of  New  England  emigrants, 
the  mother  the  daughter  of  a  minister,  and  both  parents  edu- 
cated, self-respecting  members  of  the  little  community.  Here 
the  twro  Hadley  brothers  were  born,  and  here  till  eighteen 
years  old  the  younger  kept  his  promise  to  his  mother  that 
tobacco  and  liquor  should  be  untouched.     The  older  one  had 


JERRY  M9AULEYf 

THE  FOUNDER  OF  THIS  MISSION 

HE  RESTS  FROM  MS  LABORS 
AND  HIS  WORKS  FOLLOW  HIM. 

}VhcrcIam,(here  shall  also 
my  servant  bvV 

J0HH.XII.Z6. 


liiliiii.Vliiiili'U'llili  niil:,„iil 


TABLET  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  JERRY  M°AULEY 
OX  THE  WALL  OF  THE  WATER  STREET 
MISSION    ROOM. 


82  A  mother's  last  words. 

already  gone  out  into  the  world.     S.  H.  Hadley,  the  younger, 
born  in  1843,  shall  tell  the  story  in  his  own  way  and  words : 

S.  H.  Hadley' s  Story. 

A  friend,  who  was  the  miller  of  the  county,  told  me  he 
would  never  speak  to  me  again  if  I  did  not  drink,  and  that  he 
would  think  I  had  some  grudge  against  him  or  felt  myself 
above  him  socially.  I  took  the  bottle  after  he  had  coaxed  me 
a  full  half  hour,  and  put  it  to  my  lips  and  drank.  "Will  I  ever 
forget  that  moment?  The  vow  I  had  made  to  my  mother  was 
broken,  and  the  devil  came  in  and  took  full  possession.  My 
mother  died  a  short  time  after  this,  happily  in  ignorance  of  my 
sin.  I  was  away  from  home  that  day,  but  her  last  words  were, 
"  Tell  Hopkins  to  meet  me  in  Heaven." 

By  the  side  of  my  dead  mother,  I  vowed  never  to  drink 
again,  but  in  three  days  yielded  to  the  temptation.  It  was  thus 
far  only  occasional.  My  father  died,  and  I  began  the  study  of 
medicine  with  the  village  doctor,  who  was  himself  a  heavy 
drinker,  though  a  brilliant  member  of  the  profession.  Both  of 
us  went  down  swiftly,  the  doctor  soon  drinking  himself  to 
death.  I  left  the  place,  and  after  a  little  experience  as  travel- 
ing salesman,  became  a  professional  gambler,  and  for  fifteen 
years  followed  this  life.  In  1870  I  came  to  'New  York,  where 
I  had  a  fine  position  offered  me,  which  I  soon  lost.  Delirium 
tremens  came  more  than  once,  and  in  spite  of  a  strong  consti- 
tution the  time  was  reached  when  I  knew  that  death  must  soon 
result. 

One  Tuesday  evening  I  sat  in  a  saloon  in  Harlem,  a  home- 
less, friendless,  dying  drunkard.  I  had  pawned  or  sold  every- 
thing that  would  bring  drink.  I  could  not  sleep  unless  I  was 
drunk.  I  had  not  eaten  for  days,  and  for  four  nights  preced- 
ing I  had  suffered  with  delirium  tremens,  or  the  horrors,  from 
midnight  till  morning.  I  had  often  said,  "I  will  never  be  a 
tramp.  I  will  never  be  cornered.  When  that  time  comes,  if 
it  ever  does,  I  will  find  a  home  in  the  bottom  of  the  river." 
But  the  Lord  so  ordered  it  that  when  that  time  did  come  I  was 
not  able  to  walk  a  quarter  of  the  way  to  the  river.     As  I  sat 


BATTLING    WITH    DRINK. 

there  thinking,  I  seemed  to  feel  some  great  and  mighty  pres- 
ence. I  did  not  know  then  what  it  was.  I  walked  up  to  the 
bar,  and  pounding  it  with  my  iist  till  I  made  the  glasses  rattle, 
I  mi  id  I  would  never  take  another  drink  if  I  died  in  the  street, 

and  I  felt  as  though  that  would  happen  before  morning. 

Something  said,  "If  you  want  to  keep  this  promise  go  and 
have  yourself  locked  up."  I  went  to  the  nearest  station  house 
and  had  myself  locked  up.  I  was  put  in  a  narrow  cell,  and  it 
seemed  as  though  all  the  demons  that  could  find  room  came 
into  that  place  with  me.  This  was  not  all  the  company  I  had 
either.  No,  that  dear  Spirit  that  came  to  me  in  the  saloon 
was  present  and  said,  "  Pray." 

I  did  pray,  and  kept  on  praying.  When  I  was  released  I 
found  my  way  to  my  brother's  house,  where  every  care  was 
given  me.  While  lying  in  bed  the  admonishing  spirit  never 
left  me,  and  when  I  arose  the  following  Sunday  morning  I  felt 
that  that  day  would  decide  my  fate.  Toward  evening  it  came 
into  my  head  to  go  over  to  the  Cremorne  Mission  and  hear 
Jerry  McAuley. 

I  went.  The  house  was  packed,  and  with  great  difficulty  I 
made  my  way  to  the  space  near  the  platform.  There  I  saw 
the  apostle  to  the  drunkard  and  outcast,  Jerry  McAuley.  He 
rose  and  amid  deep  silence  told  his  experience.  There  was 
something  about  this  man  that  carried  conviction  with  it,  and 
I  found  myself  saying,  "  I  wonder  if  God  can  save  me." 

I  listened  to  the  testimony  of  many  who  had  been  saved 
from  rum,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  be  saved  or 
die  right  there.  When  the  invitation  to  kneel  for  prayer  was 
given  I  knelt  down  with  quite  a  crowd  of  drunkards.  I  was  a 
total  stranger,  but  I  felt  I  had  sympathy,  and  it  helped  me. 
Jerry  made  the  first  prayer.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  He  said. 
"Dear  Saviour,  wont  you  look  down  on  these  poor  souls  \ 
They  need  your  help,  Lord ;  they  can't  get  along  without  it. 
Blessed  Jesus,  these  poor  sinners  have  got  themselves  into  a 
bad  hole.  Won't  you  help  them  out  I  Speak  to  them.  Lord. 
Do,  for  Jesus'  sake.     Amen." 

Then  Jerry  said,  "  Xow,  all  keep  on  your  knees,  and  keep 


84  A  drunkard's  prayer. 

praying  while  I  ask  these  dear  souls  to  pray  for  themselves." 
He  spoke  to  one  after  another  as  he  placed  his  hands  on  their 
heads.  "  Brother,  you  pray.  Now  tell  the  Lord  just  what  you 
want  Him  to  do  for  you." 

How  I  trembled  as  he  approached  me.  I  felt  like  backing 
out.  The  devil  knelt  by  my  side  and  whispered  in  my  ear,  re- 
minding me  of  crimes  I  had  forgotten  for  months.  "  What 
are  you  going  to  do  about  such  and  such  matters  if  you  start 
to  be  a  Christian  to-night  ?  Now  you  can't  afford  to  make  a 
mistake.  Hadn't  you  better  think  this  matter  over  awhile, 
and  try  to  fix  up  some  of  the  troubles  you  are  in,  and  then 
start?" 

Oh,  what  a  conflict  was  going  on  for  my  poor  soul !  Jerry's 
hand  was  on  my  head.  He  said,  "Brother,  pray."  I  said, 
"  Can't  you  pray  for  me  ?  "  Jerry  said,  "  All  the  prayers  in 
the  world  won't  save  you  unless  you  pray  for  yourself." 

I  halted  but  a  moment,  and  then  I  said  with  breaking 
heart,  "  Dear  Jesus,  can  you  help  me  ?  " 

Never  can  I  describe  that  moment.  Although  my  soul  had 
been  filled  with  indescribable  gloom,  I  felt  the  glorious  bright- 
ness of  the  noonday  sun  shine  into  my  heart.  I  felt  I  was  a 
free  man. 

From  that  moment  to  this  I  have  never  tasted  a  drink  of 
whiskey,  and  I  have  never  seen  enough  money  to  make  me  take 
one.  I  promised  God  that  night  that  if  He  would  take  away 
the  appetite  for  strong  drink  I  would  work  for  Him  all  my 
life.  He  has  done  His  part,  and  I  have  been  trying  to  do 
mine.  It  took  four  years  to  make  my  brother  believe  I  was  in 
earnest.  He  believed  it  fast  enough  when  he  was  converted 
himself.  He  is  a  splendid-looking  man,  a  colonel  in  the  army, 
and  is  doing  rescue  work,  and  will  as  long  as  he  lives,  with  all 
his  money  and  all  his  strength.  He  had  a  newspaper  run  in 
the  interest  of  gin-mills,  and  the  day  after  he  was  converted  he 
cut  out  every  advertisement  that  they  had  given  him.  "  This 
paper  is  converted,  too,"  he  said,  and  it  was  a  queer  looking 
paper  when  he  got  through. 

I  was  called  to  take  charge  of  the  Water  Street  Mission 


COFFEE   NIGHT   AT   THE    WATER   STREET    .MISSION.  B*j 

after  I  had  been  working  with  all  my  might  for  four  years  in 
the  Cremorne,  and  here  I  am  settled  with  my  wife  and  two 
other  missionaries,  one  of  whom  everybody  in  the  ward  knows 
as  well  as  ever  they  knew  Jerry.  "Mother  Sherwood"  they 
all  call  her.  We  rim  low  in  funds  often,  for  it  costs  $4,000 
a  year  to  carry  on  the  work.  When  a  man  starts  on  a  better 
life  the  odds  are  often  against  him,  and  he  must  be  helped  for 
awhile  with  food,  clothing,  and  whatever  else  may  be  wanted. 

Saturday  night  is  "coffee  night''  at  the  Mission  room. 
Many  a  poor  discouraged  fellow,  who  has  been  looking  for 
work  and  found  none,  and  gone  on  short  commons  a  whole 
week,  drifts  in  here  on  Saturday  afternoon,  knowing  that  he  will 
get  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  sandwich  in  the  evening.  There  are 
plenty  of  bummers  and  tramps  in  our  Saturday  night  crowd, 
and  some  a  good  deal  worse  than  either,  too.  We  weed  out  a 
few,  but  we  try  to  keep  nearly  all,  for  who  knows  what 
may  come  to  them  I  Empty  cups  are  placed  on  the  seats,  and 
each  man  picks  one  up  as  he  sits  down,  and  patiently  waits  for 
hours.  At  seven  o'clock  our  own  workers  carry  the  big  coffee- 
pots among  the  audience,  and  laugh  for  joy  as  they  see  the 
look  on  some  of  the  faces.  The  men  begin  to  pile  in  by  three 
o'clock  on  Saturday  afternoon,  though  our  service  does  not 
begin  till  half-past  seven.  Time  is  of  no  account  with  them, 
you  know,  and  the  room  is  packed  full  in  half  an  hour. 
"We  are  often  obliged  to  lock  the  doors  and  turn  the  rest  away. 
Many  have  nowhere  else  to  go.  After  lunch  we  have  a  service 
of  song,  followed  by  an  experience  meeting,  lasting  till  half- 
past  nine,  when  the  men  depart.  Most  of  them  sleep  in  cheap 
lodging-rooms  or  police  station-houses,  though  some  walk  the 
streets  all  night.  On  several  cold  nights  this  winter  we  let 
some  of  them  sleep  on  the  floor  of  the  Mission  room  all  night. 
Coffee  night  is  one  of  our  institutions,  and  always  draws  a  big 
crowd,  though  generally  a  pretty  tough  one. 

JSo  matter  how  dirty,  how  vicious,  how  depraved  a  man 
may  be,  he  will  find  a  welcome  here.  We  will  take  him  down 
stairs  and  wash  him.  If  he  is  sick  we  will  have  a  doctor 
for  him,  or  get  him  into  a  hospital,  and  we  won't  lose  sight  of 


88  .  DOORS  THAT  ALWAYS  SWING  INWARD. 

him,  and  we  will  bury  him  if  he  dies.     There  is  hope  for  all  of 
them  if  they  once  begin  to  pray. 

Plainly  Jerry  has  found  such  a  successor  as  he  himself  would 
have  chosen,  and  the  work  he  loved  goes  on  as  he  would  have 
had  it.  The  doors  of  the  little  Mission  swing  inward  for 
all  comers,  and  the  voices  of  men  who  have  found  here  refuge 
and  hope  are  always  sending  out  into  the  night  the  call, — 

"  Calling  now  to  thee,  prodigal, 

Calling  now  to  thee, 
Thou  hast  wandered  far  away, 

But  He's  calling  now  to  thee." 


CHAPTEE   III. 

UP  SLAUGHTER  ALLEY,  OK  LIFE  IX  A  TENEMENT-HOUSE— A 
TOUR  THROUGH  HOMES  OF  .MISERY,  WANT,  AND  WOE 
—  DRINKS   DOINGS. 

Why  Called  Slaughter  Alley  — Kicking  a  Missionary  Downstairs  — Life  and 
Scenes  in  Tenement-Houses  —  Voices  and  Shapes  in  the  Darkne>s  —  My 
Tour  with  the  Doctor  — Picking  our  Way  through  Slime  and  Filth  — 
"Mammy's  Lookin'  for  You  "  —  "  Murtherin'  Dinnis  "  —  Misery  and 
Squalor  Side  by  Side  —  Stalwart  Tim— In  the  Presence  of  Death  — "I 
Want  to  go,  but  I'm  Willin'  to  Wait  '  — Patsy  —  A  Five- Year-Old 
Washerwoman  —  Sickening    Od<  >rs  —  Human   Beasts  —  Dangerous    Places 

—  "Mike  Gimme  a  Dollar  for  the  Childer"  — The  Charity  of  the  Poor 

—  "Oh,    Wurra,    me    Heart's    Siek    in    me"  —  Homes    Swarming    with 
Rats  —  Alive  with  Vermin  and  Saturated  with  Filth  —  The  Omnipi 
Saloon  —  A  Nursery  of   Criminals  and    Drunkards  —  The  Terrible  Influ- 
ence of  Drink  —  Conceived  in  Sin  and  Born  in  Iniquity  —  The  Dreadful 
Tenement-House  Svstem. 


W 


HY  '"Slaughter"  Alley,  who  shall  say,  since  among  its 
inhabitants  not  one  can  tell.  No  map  of  New  York 
holds  the  name,  but  from  the  fact  that  one  of  the  oldest  inhab- 
itants reports  that  it  was  once  Butcher  Alley  one  may  conclude 
two  things :  either  that  more  than  one  murder  done  at  this 
point  has  given  it  right  to  the  name,  or  that  it  has  arisen  from 
the  slaughter  of  the  innocents,  —  the  babies,  who  die  here 
in  summer  like  rats  in  a  hole.  And  in  the  old  days,  when  this 
whole  seething,  turbulent  spot  was  quiet  meadows  sloping  to 
the  East  River,  there  may  have  been,  as  vague  tradition  in- 
dicates, an  actual  slaughter-house,  cleaner,  we  will  warrant. 
than  any  successor  found  to-day. 

Be  this  as  it  may.  the  name  has  established  its  right  to  per- 
manence, and  the  alley  shall  make  its  revelation  of  what  one 
form  of  Xew  York  tenement-house  has  for  its  occupants. 

To  one  familiar  with   the  story  of  old  Xew  York.  R 

(89) 


90 


LANDLORDS  WHO   THRIVE   ON  THE   POOR. 


velt  Street,  through  which  we  pass,  is  itself  a  bit  of  history, 
the  name  belonging  to  one  of  the  old  Dutch  families  whose 
houses  once  covered  this  favorite  site.  Who  owns  the  tall 
tenement-houses  that  have  taken  their  place  it  is  not  always 
easy  to  tell,  since  many  owners  hide  behind  an  agent  who  must 
shoulder  the  responsibility  of  the  hideous  conditions  to  be 
found  in  most  of  them.     They  are  chiefly  five-story  buildings, 


m^me^^^f^^^^^^ 


ENTRANCE   TO   A   TENEMENT-HOUSE   AND   ALLEY. 

The  door  at  the  left  leads  directly  into  a  tenement.    The  archway  at  the  right  is  a  dark  passage- 
way leading  to  filthy  yards  and  tenements  in  the  rear. 

run  up  with  the  one  object  of  getting  as  many  rooms  into  the 
space  as  it  will  hold,  and  with  an  absolute  ignoring  of  the 
means  by  which  light,  air,  and  sunshine  are  to  enter.  Half 
way  up  the  street  there  opens  suddenly  from  it  a  narrow 
alley  ending  in  a  blank  wall.  If  the  houses  are  no  higher, 
they  seem  so  here,  for  outstretched  arms  can  touch  the  walls 
on  either  side ;  and,  even  as  we  go,  a  voice  behind,  rich  in 
brogue  and  thick  with  the  first  stages  of  whiskey's  effects,  is 
saying  to  a  companion, — 


MY   TOXTB    WITH   THE    DOCTOR.  91 

"  Sure,  thin,  an'  I  wouldn't  be  livin'  anywhere  else  at  all, 
for  whin  wan  is  a  bit  unstiddy,  anJ  there's  no  knowin'  where 

the  feet'll  be  landin'  him.  shure  it's  the  walls  that  holds  ye, 
an'  there's  no  fallin'.  Long  life  to  the  alley,  an'  bad  'cess  to 
thini  that  talks  o'  layin'  its  walls  low,  sez  I." 

The  doctor  who  comes  to  the  Mission  once  or  twice  weekly 
is  a  gentle-lookhm-  woman,  a  little  beyond  middle  life,  who 
devotes  a  large  share  of  her  time  and  professional  service  to 
the  poor  of  this  wretched  locality  without  the  least  expecta- 
tion of  reward  save  the  approbation  of  Him  who  said,  "  Inas- 
much as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  these,  ye  have  done 
it  unto  me." 

"  If  you  want  to  know  how  some  of  the  poor  souls  in  the 
alley  have  to  live  and  die,  come  with  me,"  she  said  to  me  one 
day.  "  It  is  safe  enough  now,  but  ten  years  ago  not  the  brav- 
est would  have  gone  up  that  alley  alone.  Even  now  they 
sometimes  kick  a  missionary  down  stairs,  or  you  encounter  a 
drunken  pair  clinching  and  rolling  at  their  leisure  from  top 
to  bottom.  But  we  can  go  up  safely,  though  I  warn  you 
beforehand  of  the  smells.  Often,  well-seasoned  as  I  am,  I 
have  to  run  out  to  the  hallway  and  lean  over  the  stairs  for  a 
breath  of  something  a  shade  less  nauseous.    Come." 

Standing  at  the  entrance  to  the  alley.  I  hesitated  and 
shrank  instinctively  from  further  attempt  to  penetrate  the 
mysteries  of  these  shadows.  Over  the  stones,  slimy  with  inde- 
scribable filth,  we  picked  our  way  through  garbage  and  refuse 
of  every  order.  Above,  a  frowsy  woman  looked  out  with  an 
oath,  followed  by  more  as  a  neighbor's  head  emerged  from  the 
window  below  and  tossed  back  a  reply  which  evidently  meant 
the  re-opening  of  old  hostilities.  The  voices  had  risen  to  a 
shriek  as  we  entered  the  low  door  at  the  end  of  the  alley  and 
began  the  ascent  of  the  stairs,  on  which  something  moved, 
shrinking  close  to  the  wall,  damp  with  the  exhalations  from 
privy  and  sewer.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  more  than  that  it 
was  a  girlish  figure  waiting  silently  for  us  to  pass  on.  but  the 
doctor  paused.  The  girl  had  turned  her  face  to  the  wall,  and 
bent  still  lower  as  the  doctor  said, — 


92 


LURKING  IN  DARKNESS. 


"  In  trouble  again,  Sophy  ?     Why  didn't  you  come  to  me  ? 
You  promised." 

Then  she  gave  a  little  cry  and  rushed  through  the  darkness 


A   TYPICAL   TENEMENT-HOUSE    BACK   YAHD. 


for  the  door  below.  A  shuffling  step  followed  her.  It  was  a 
man  who  had  been  lurking  in  some  niche  above,  and  who  held 
to  the  shaky  stair-rail  as  he  descended,  looking  back  for  a 
moment,  with  an  evil  glance  felt  rather  than  seen.     On  the 


LIFE   IN   A   TENEMENT-HOUSE.  (S-\ 

next  flight  —  darker,  if  that  were  possible,  than  the  last  — 
three  or  four  children  were  quarreling,  with  oaths  caught  from 
their  elders  and  used  with  a  horrible  fluency.  Our  of  them 
caught  at  the  doctor's  hand  as  she  passed. 

"Mammy's  lookin5  for  you,"  she  said.  "  She's  crazy  most, 
an'  I've  been  watchin'  for  you." 

"Who  wouldn't  be  crazy  in  such  a  hole?"  another  voice 
answered  out  of  the  darkness,  and  another  form  appeared  from 
above  and  felt  its  way  toward  us. 

"Who,  indeed?"  the  doctor  murmured  under  her  breath. 
but  made  no  pause.  Our  eyes,  which  had  gradually  accustomed 
themselves  to  the  darkness,  could  now  dimly  make  out  doors 
here  and  there,  one  of  which  the  doctor  opened  and  passed 
through.  A  dim  liffht  came  from  windows  crusted  with  dirt. 
It  fell  on  little  save  walls  in  the  same  dirty  condition,  and  a 
mattress  black  with  age  in  one  corner  on  the  floor;  a  tiny  cook- 
ing-stove, one  leg  gone  and  its  place  supplied  by  a  brick;  a 
table  propped  against  the  wall  for  the  same  reason;  and  a 
single  rickety  chair.  On  a  shelf  were  a  few  dishes,  and  on  the 
stove  an  old  tomato-can  held  water.  No  wild  beast's  den  could 
offer  a  more  hopeless  prospect  for  a  human  being,  yet  on  this 
mattress  a  human  being  lay,  and  turned  heavy  eyes  toward  the 
doctor,  who  tenderly  took  the  bony  hand  for  a  moment,  feeling 
the  pulse  mechanically. 

"He's  been  at  it  again,"  the  husky  voice  whispered.  "He 
went  off  with  the  saucepan  and  one  of  the  coverlets  this  morn- 
ing, an'  by  this  time  they're  drunk  up.  It  don't  make  any 
matter.     I'll  be  done  in  a  day  or  two  now." 

The  fact  was  so  evident  that  no  comment  was  possible,  nor 
did  the  doctor  make  any.  The  child  who  had  followed  us 
brought  some  water  in  a  tin  basin,  and  watched  while  the  pain- 
drawn,  pallid  face  was  sponged' off.  But  even  alleviation  was 
impossible  in  such  surroundings,  and  death  was  too  near  for 
any  attempt  to  better  things.  An  old  Irishwoman,  bent  and 
twisted  with  rheumatism,  hobbled  in,  and  nodded  with  an  at- 
tempt at  cheerfulness. 

"  Shure,  an'  it's  a  beautiful  breakfast  she's  afther  atin',  an'  1 


94 


makin'  it  wid  me  own  hands.  A  bit  o'  ilegant  beef,  an'  tay 
strong  enough  to  float  an  egg.  That'll  kape  her  up  an'  take 
her  through  the  day,  but  she's  set  as  ever,  she  won't  go  to  hos- 
pital, an'  small  blame  to  her.  Ye  needn't  worry,  Doctor  dear. 
Me  eye  is  on  her,  an'  on  that  murtherin'  villain  of  a  Dinnis, 
that's  dhrunk  up  every  stick  o'  furniture,  an'  may  it  choke  him 
unbeknownst  an'  stick  forever  in  the  evil  throat  of  him.     Take 

a  peep  at  Tim  as  you  go  by,  Doc- 
tor dear,  an'  all  the  saints  make 
yer  bed  for  it.  It's  naught  else 
I've  got  but 
a  wish,  an' 
thim's  plenty 
in  a  hole  like 
this,  though 
there's  little 
in  'em  that's 
nllin'." 

The  voice 
rambled  on 
as  we  passed 
again  into 
the  hall  and 
opened  the 
door  into  an- 
other room,  a 
trifle  cleaner, 
but  hardly 
less  bare. 
Tim,  a  stal- 
wart Irish- 
man, asleep 
on  the  bed  in 
one  corner, 
was,  so  far  as 

one  could  judge,  simply  in  a  drunken  stupor,  for  the  smell  of 
stale  beer  was  in  the  air,  its  pungency  dominating  other  un- 


A  TENEMENT  HOUSE  ON  HAMILTON  STREET  KNOWN  AS  THE 
SHIP."  1,  NARROW  ENTRANCE  TO  THE  REAR  LEADING 
TO  THE  GARRET  ROOMS. 


PRAYING    B*OB    DEATH.  95 

savoriness.  In  the  back  room  three  lads,  also  asleep,  lay  across 
a  bed,  and  on  the  floor  was  stretched  a  woman,  her  sodden 
face,  with  a  great  bruise  over  one  eye.  indicating  what  kind  of 
orgie  had  been  held  there.     The  doctor  closed  the  door. 

At  the  top  of  the  house  we  entered  a  low  and  narrow  room 
under  the  eaves;  the  bed  was  pushed  as  far  as  it  would  go 
against  the  sloping  wall;  a  chair  or  two,  a  small  table,  and  a 
tiny  cooking-stove,  over  which  a  man  bent  stirring  something 
in  a  saucepan,  made  up  the  furniture  of  the  room.  So  deadly 
and  heavy  was  the  smell,  as  the  door  opened,  that  a  mighty 
effort  was  necessary  before  I  could  enter  at  all. 

"  She's  a  grain  easier,  but  only  a  grain,"  said  the  man,  com- 
ing forward  and  addressing  the  doctor.  "  She's  been  prayin' 
to  be  released,  if  it's  the  Lord's  will,  an"  I've  come  to  be  willin'. 
Look  at  her." 

The  bandages  had  been  removed,  and  I  sawT  a  painful  sight ; 
cancer  of  the  face  and  head ;  yet  life  enough  in  the  poor  lips  to 
smile  in  the  doctors  face. 

"I'm  most  through,  ain't  I?"  she  whispered.  "  O,  I 
hope  so ;  I  want  to  go,  but  I'm  willin'  to  wait." 

"  Yes,  you  are  almost  through,''  answered  the  kind  voice  of 
the  doctor.     "  You  have  only  a  day  or  two  longer." 

The  man  knelt  by  the  bed,  shaking  with  sobs,  and  the  doc- 
tor prayed  for  release,  for  patience  and  strength  to  bear  what- 
ever pain  must  still  be  borne. 

"  That  does  me  good,"  the  dying  woman  whispered.  "  Come 
to-morrow  an'  every  day  till  I'm  gone." 

With  a  pressure  of  the  wasted  hand  Ave  hurried  down  the 
stairs. 

"  I  thought  you  w^ould  faint,"  the  doctor  said,  as  we  reached 
the  street  and  the  wind  blew  up  cool  from  the  river.  "  Stand 
still  a  minute.     Y^ou're  trembling." 

"  Why  does  not  such-  a  case  as  that  go  to  the  hospital  ?  "  I 
asked,  when  the  fresh  air  had  brought  back  color  and  voice. 
"  She  could  at  least  have  decent  comfort  there." 

"  We  wanted  her  to,  but  her  husband  wouldn't  hear  to  it. 
He  wanted  to  be  near  the  Mission,  and  so  did  she,  and  she  said 


96 


LIFE  AMONG   THE  LOWLY. 


she'd  got  to  die  any  way,  so  that  there  was  no  use  in  going 
away.  They  were  both  converted  there,  and  he's  been  tender 
as  a  woman  with  her.     He's  tended  her  all  night,  sleeping 

when  he 
could,  after 
working  all 
day  on  the 
dock,  and  it 
breaks  his 
heart  to  think 
she's  going." 
The  next 
place,  a  six- 
story  tene- 
ment-house, 
while  less 
shaky  than 
the  one  we 
had  just  left, 
was  equally 
odorous;  and 
how  human 
beings  lived 
through  such 
pulling  upon 
all  the  vital 
forces  I  could 
not  see.  We 
passed  famil- 
iar faces  on 
two  of  the 
landings,  and 

I  found  that  this  house  had  gradually  been  filled  up  by  "regu- 
lar" attendants  at  the  Water  Street  Mission,  and  though  a 
liquor-saloon  still  nourished  below,  the  building  had  lost  its 
former  character  as  one  of  the  most  brawling,  disorderly 
houses  in  the  block. 


A   ROOM   AND   ITS   OCCUPANT   AS   FOUND   IN   THE   GARRET   OP 
"  THE   SHIP." 


DISTRESSING   SCENES   AND   INCIDENTS.  97 

"We  climbed  up  to  the  fourth  floor  and  entered  a  front  room 
overlooking  the  street  :  a  room  of  tolerable  size,  but  intolerable 

dirt, where  four  little  children  sal  on  the  floor  eating  bread  and 
molasses,  while  a  man  sat  in  the  corner  smoking.     He  nodded 

surlily  but  said  nothing',  and  I  followed  the  doctor  into  an 
inner  room;  a  dark  bedroom,  where  no  sunshine  could  ever 
reach,  and  which  had  the  same  heavy,  oppressive  smell  I  had 
noticed  in  the  other  house,  —  a  fog  of  human  exhalations. 
Propped  up  in  bed,  for  easier  breathing,  was  a  woman  in  the 
last  stages  of  consumption  ;  a  deep  red  spot  on  each  cheek,  and 
her  frame  the  merest  skeleton.  I  returned  to  the  larger  room, 
and  tried  to  talk  to  the  children,  but  they  were  absorbed  in 
their  bread  and  molasses,  and  the  man  eyed  me  so  suspiciously 
that  I  sat  silent,  looking  about.  An  old  mattress  was  in  one 
corner,  evidently  the  children's  bed  at  night  ;  a  few  chairs;  a 
closet,  whose  open  door  showed  some  broken  crockery  and  one 
or  two  cooking  utensils. 

"  I'll  come  round  to-morrow.  Patsy,  and  straighten  up  a 
bit,"  said  a  neighbor  who  had  unceremoniously  entered.  "  It's 
pretty  hard  on  you,  trying  to  do  all  yourself."  The  man 
grunted,  and  in  a  moment  left  the  room. 

"  Come  here,  you  poor,  sticky  little  things,"  she  went  on, 
"and  have  your  faces  washed."  Turning  to  me  she  said, 
"  They  can't  see  out  o'  their  eyes  for  dirt.  Their  mother  kept 
round  till  a  month  ago,  but  she  can't  help  herself  a  stroke 
now." 

The  oldest  child,  only  five,  but  preternaturally  old,  and  with 
a  businessdike  expression,  laughed. 

"  I  washed  yesterday,"  she  said  ;  "  I  borryed  a  little  tub, 
an'  I  let  Molly  rub  her  own  apron.  It  ain't  dry  yet.  An'  to- 
morry  I'm  goin'  to  scrub  mother's  floor  with  Mrs.  O'Pafferty's 
brush." 

"  I'll  be  here,"  said  the  kinddiearted  neighbor,  who  had  al- 
ready transformed  the  two  youngest  into  very  lovely  looking 
children,  whose  dark  curls  and  clear  blue  eyes  were  the  best 
type  of  Celtic  beauty.  "  You  ought  to  wash  'em  more, 
Bridget.     You're  old  enough." 


98 


HOMES   OF  WANT  AND  MISERY. 


"  They  doesn't  like  it,"  said  Bridget.  "  They  hollers,  an' 
that  plagues  mother.  I  can't  make  'em  be  still  for  it,  savin' 
sometimes." 

The  doctor's  work  was  over ;  the  bed  freshly  made,  and  the 
sick  woman  rendered  as  comfortable  as  possible,  and  after  a 

prayer  from 
this  true  min- 
istering spirit 
we  went  out. 
Children 
looked  from 
every  door — 
it  seemed  to 
me  —  by  doz- 
ens; they 
swarmed  on 
the  stairs  and 
in  the  halls. 

"All  just 
as  usual,"  the 
doctor  said, 
turning  to 
me.  "  This 
floor — for 
you  see  there 
are  doors  on 
the  other  side 
of  the  hall  — 
has  nothing 
better  to  of- 
fer. In  that 
room  oppo- 
site you  elev- 


OUT   OF  WORK. —  A   LONGSHOREMAN'S  FAMILY   AND   HOME. 


en  people  sleep  at  night;  father,  mother,  two  daughters 
who  work  in  a  bag-factory  intermittently,  and  the  rest  board- 
ers. My  coming  here  is  quite  useless  save  that  this  dying 
woman  craves  it.     She  refused  to  go  to  hospital  because  she 


HUMAN   BEASTS   IX   FILTHY   DENS. 

thought  she  could  perhaps  keep  her  husband  from  drinking 
himself  to  death  if  she  stayed  on,  and  she  has  the  prejudice  of 
her  class  against  hospitals.  On  the  two  floors  below  are  fami- 
lies, three  of  which  take  boarders,  each  of  whom  has  a  certain 
portion  of  floor  space  and  that  is  all.  They  arc  of  the  worst 
order  of  tenants.  Some  of  the  men  work  along  the  docks 
at  odd  jobs,  laying  off  for  a  spree  at  least  once  a  week,  and 
always  more  or  less  full  of  liquor.  Three  of  the  women  scrub 
office  floors,  and  one  takes  in  washing.  The  girls  are  in  some 
of  the  various  factories  about  here  ;  those,  at  least,  who  make 
some  show  of  earning  an  honest  living.  But  you  see  for  your- 
self how  much  chance  there  is  for  any  life  born  in  a  house  like 
this.  Take  it  all  in,  for  it  belongs  to  one  of  the  rich  men 
of  Xew  York." 

Such  scenes  may  be  witnessed  in  New  York  every  day. 
There  are  men  and  women  who  lie  and  die  day  by  day  in  these 
wretched  tenement-house  rooms,  sharing  in  their  weakness  all 
the  family  trouble,  enduring  the  hunger  and  the  cold,  and 
waiting,  without  hope,  for  a  single  ray  of  comfort,  until 
God  curtains  their  staring  eyes  with  the  merciful  film  of  death. 

AVe  made  our  way  slowly  down  the  stairs,  pausing  for  a 
minute  as  the  doctor  pointed  out  the  sink  at  the  end  of 
each  hall. 

**  That  is  a  concession  to  popular  prejudice,"  she  said.  "  At 
first  there  was  water  only  in  the  yard,  and  I  am  not  certain  but 
that  they  were  as  well  off,  since  the  sink  is  always  stopped 
with  filth ;  and  the  waterclosets  fare  the  same,  all  the  refuse 
going  down  there.  The  Board  of  Health!  \Yhat  could  the 
Board  of  Health  do  in  a  house  like  this  !  Disinfect  it  as  they 
might;  order  cleaning  and  new  plumbing;  but  what  good, 
when  these  human  beasts  flock  here;  with  no  chance  of  being 
anything  but  beasts  so  long  as  they  have  no  desiue  to  improve  \ 
It  is  a  case  of  reflex  action.  The  tenement  pulls  them  down. 
but  they  also  pull  down  the  tenement.  Let  us  try  the  one 
on  the  other  side  of  the  alley  and  see  if  it  is  an  improvement." 

Even  the  foulness  of  the  alley  seemed  pure  after  the  sicken- 
ing passage  down  and  out.     On  the  step  sat  a  little  cripple,  his 


100  WHAT  WE  FOUND  IN  A  CELLAR  HOME. 

crutches  lying  beside  him,  and  another  child,  a  hunchback, 
playing  "toss-up"  with  him.  Children  were  playing  in  the 
gutter,  down  which  a  foul  stream  of  dirty  suds  was  running 
languidly,  but  which  served  to  carry  the  boats  they  had  made 
from  bits  of  wood,  and  thus  to  give  a  hint  of  play.  On  the  op- 
posite side  the  story  repeated  itself,  but  with  a  difference.  In 
the  first  there  had  been  at  least  fairly  sound  floors  and  stair- 
ways. In  the  second,  great  gaps  were  in  both.  The  stair-rail 
had  given  way  at  several  points,  and  even  for  the  sure- 
footed there  was  danger  all  the  way.  How  drunken  man 
or  woman  reached  top  or  bottom  without  broken  limbs  was  a 
question.  The  smell  was  unbearable.  One  sickened  and  grew 
faint  in  this  atmosphere  in  which  babies  were  growing  up  and 
human  beings  living  on  contentedly  a  life  hardly  above  that  of 
the  maggot  in  a  festering  carcass. 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  the  doctor  said,  when  breath  had  been 
taken.  "  You  have  not  seen  the  lowest  depth.  Turn  around. 
There  is  a  door  at  your  left." 

The  door  showed  itself  as  she  spoke.  There  was  a  step 
leading  down  into  a  narrow  cellar  room  lighted  only  by  one 
dirt-encrusted  window,  and  containing  a  dirty  bed  in  one  cor- 
ner, a  broken-backed  chair,  a  three-legged  table,  and  a  rickety 
stove.  In  the  chair  was  seated  a  crying  woman,  with  a  deep 
cut  across  her  cheek ;  a  baby  lay  in  her  lap  and  five  children 
huddled  about  her.  In  a  corner,  on  some  rags,  groaning  and 
telling  her  beads,  lay  an  old  woman,  while  across  the  bed  was 
thrown  the  body  of  a  man  who  breathed  heavily  in  a  drunken 
sleep.  It  is  a  frequent  story,  and  he  who  runs  may  read. 
First,  a  carouse  in  any  saloon  of  the  neighborhood ;  then,  on 
getting  home,  the  agreeable  pastime  of  beating  his  wife  and 
children,  throwing  the  few  remaining  dishes  at  the  old  grand- 
mother, one  of  them  taking  the  wife's  cheek  in  its  flight,  and 
then  tumbling  on  to  the  bed  to  sleep  off  the  effects  of  the  de- 
bauch, only  to  wake  ready  for  another  bout. 

The  doctor  went  quietly  to  work,  washing  the  cut  and  plas- 
tering it  from  a  roll  she  carried  with  her,  while  the  woman 
told  her  tale. 


A   WIFE  S   STORY. 


101 


"  I  wouldn't  have  yees  see  the  eye  on  me  if  I  could  help  it, 
for  Mike's  as  kind  a  cratur  whin  the  dhrink's  not  in  him,  as 
ye'd  want  to  Bee.  But  he  came  in  mad  loike,  an'  thefirsl  thing 
was  up  wid  his  fist  an'  hittin'  me.  He'd  worked  nigh  the  whole 
week,  an'  there  was  good  wages  comin'  to  him,  but  the  minute 
he'd  his  pocket  full  he  wint  to  Jim's.  I  knowed  he'd  be  there, 
an'  I  was  on  the  watch  for  him,  but  he'd  had  more  dhrink  as 


AN   EVERY   DAY   SCENE   IN   A   TENEMENT   HOUSE   ALLEY. 

he  come  along,  an'  was  jest  full  enough  not  to  mind.  I  says  to 
him,  '  Mike,  gim'me  a  dollar  for  the  childer.  We've  none  of  us 
ate  since  mornin','  an'  he  swore  and  pushed  me  to  wan  side. 
Thin  I  begged  him,  and  the  saloon-keeper  pushed  me  out,  and 
said  he  wouldn't  have  no  snivelin'  women  around.  The  baker 
wouldn't  trust  me,  but  wan  o'  me  neighbors  give  me  a  quart  o' 


102  SQUALOR  AND   MISERY   SIDE   BY   SIDE. 

male  and  let  me  cook  it  on  her  shtove,  so  they  wint  to  slape 
with  somethin'  in  their  stomachs.  Thin  I  wint  round  to-day, 
an'  I  says,  "  For  the  love  o'  God,  Mike,  don't  let  the  childer 
starve,'  but  he  couldn't  attind,  bein'  full  o'  the  dhrink.  I 
don't  know  what  we'll  be  doin'.  I've  got  wan  day's  washin' 
come  Wednesday,  but  that  won't  kape  us,  an'  what  he  hasn't 
swallyed  they've  tuk  from  him  in  the  night.  Oh,  wurra !  me 
heart's  sick  in  me !  " 

This  is  one  order  of  cellar  homes,  and  in  all  this  vicinity 
are  others  of  the  same  sort,  save  that  when  the  tide  is  high  the 
furniture  is  set  afloat,  and  that  rats  swarm  at  every  turn. 
They  are  all  homes,  however  ;  homes  of  every  vice  known  to 
the  most  degraded  forms  of  human  existence,  and  all  parts 
of  this  tenement-house  system  which  we  are  trying  to  under- 
stand. 

Scene  after  scene  is  the  same.  Bags,  dirt,  filth,  wretched- 
ness, the  same  figures,  the  same  faces,  the  same  old  story  of  one 
room  unfit  for  habitation  yet  inhabited  by  a  dozen  people,  the 
same  complaint  of  a  ruinous  rent  exacted  by  the  merciless 
landlord,  the  same  shameful  neglect  of  all  sanitary  precautions, 
rotten  floors,  oozing  walls,  vermin  everywhere,  broken  win- 
dows, crazy  staircases  —  this  is  the  picture  of  the  homes  of 
hundreds  of  people  in  the  tenement  districts  of  New  York. 

No  one  who  has  seen  how  the  poor  live  can  return  from  the 
journey  with  aught  but  an  aching  heart.  He  will  be  brought 
face  to  face  with  that  dark  side  of  life  which  the  wearers  of 
rose-colored  spectacles  turn  away  from  on  principle.  The  wor- 
ship of  the  beautiful  is  an  excellent  thing,  but  he  who  digs 
down  deep  in  the  mire  to  find  the  soul  of  goodness  in  things 
evil  is  a  better  Christian  than  he  who  shudders  at  the  ugly  and 
unclean  and  kicks  it  from  his  path. 

Only  a  Zola  could  describe  deliberately  what  any  eye  may 
see  in  this  locality,  but  any  minute  detail  of  which  would  ex- 
cite an  outburst  of  popular  indignation.  Yet  I  am  by  no 
means  certain  that  such  detail  has  not  far  more  right  to  space 
than  much  that  fills  our  morning  papers,  and  that  the  plain, 
bald  statement  of  facts,  shorn  of  all  flights  of  fancy  or  play 


OLD   TENEMENT    ROOKERIES. 


103 


of  facetiousness  might  not  rouse  the  public  to  some  sense  of 
what  lies  below  the  surf  ace  of  this  fair-seeming  civilization  of 
to-day. 

An  extreme  case?  If  it  only  were,  —  but  these  are  tene- 
ments built  within  a  comparatively  recent  period,  and  thus 
nominally  more  comfortable  than  older  dwellings.  The  older 
buildings  still  show  their  dormer  windows  here  and  there,  and 


' 

■ 
- 

" 

Rfcr^ 

_<  _   _ 

-.- 

SICK  AND  DESTITUTE.  A  GROUP  AS 
FOUND  IX  A  CHEEKY  STREET 
TENEMENT. 

give  to  the  tenants  of  upper 
rooms  walls  sloping  at  the 
back  almost  to  the  floor,  and  but  one  window  to  the  room.  Yet 
they  swarm  no  less  than  the  newer  ones,  with  the  added  disad- 
vantage that  the  ancient  timbers  and  woodwork  are  alive  with 
vermin  and  saturated  with  all  foulness  beyond  even  the  possi- 
bilities of  brick.  The  older  tenements  are  1  tattered  and  worn- 
looking,  so  hideously  massed  together  in  places  as  to  be  with- 
out yards,  or  huddled  together  like  stves  among  stables,  facto- 
ries,  and  vile-smelling  outhouses.  Iiows  of  dirty  houses  are 
crowded  on  the  narrow  sidewalk,  with  still  more  forlorn  rear 
tenements  crowding  behind  them. 


104 


TENEMENT  ALLEYS  AND  BACKYARDS. 


A  rear  tenement  is  sometimes  reached  by  a  low  tunnel  or 
alleyway  running  through  the  front  house.  This  tunnel  is  not 
much  higher  than  one's  head,  is  two  to  three  feet  wide,  and  is 
always  partially  dark.  The  air  is  sickening  in  most  of  the 
yards.  The  garbage-barrels  are  odorous  with  decaying  refuse, 
and  the  smells  from  the  cellars  are  vile.  Oftentimes  the  cellars 
are  ankle-deep  in  water,  or  are  choked  with  rubbish. 

The  sun  slants  into  the  yard  but  for  a  short  time  in  the  day, 

if  it  comes  at  all,  and 
dirty  water  lies  in  stink- 
ing pools  on  the  flags. 
Here  old  and  young, 
sick  and  well,  live  in  a 
deadly  atmosphere  la- 
den with  the  stink  of 
nasty  garbage  and 
whiffs  of  stale  liquors 
from  neighboring  sa- 
loons. Even  the  breezes 
blowing  cannot  make 
much  difference. 
Scores  of  children  play 
on  the  sidewalks,  and 
tiny  big-eyed  creatures 
sit  on  the  dirty  flags 
against  the  house  wall. 
The  children  have  three 
playgrounds,  the  yards, 
the  cellars,  and  the 
streets.  It  is  especially  common  in  these  regions  to  find  three 
out  of  the  four  corners  of  a  street  filled  with  saloons,  every 
other  house  in  some  places  having  one  on  the  ground  floor. 

The  glimpses  into  the  nooks  and  dens  where  work  is  going 
on  are  horrifying.  Here  and  there  a  cloud  of  dust  comes  up 
out  of  a  cellar,  where  rag-picking  is  carried  on,  and  the 
loosened  filth  so  fills  the  air  that  the  wretched  beings  bending 
over  the  filthy  heaps  are  indistinguishable. 


A  MORNING   WASH   AT   THE   BACKYARD 
HYDRANT. 


WRETCHED   HOMES. 


105 


Smells,  filth,  degradation,  and  misery;  old  and  young 
crowded  together;  evil,  coarse,  ;md  suffering  faces;  tattered, 
faded,  old  clothes;  dirty  shops;  drinking  saloons  right  and 
left, —  these  things  are  scarcely  lacking  in  any  quarter,  and  arc 
plentiful  in  many. 

In  each  alley  are  several  hydrants.  All  the  water  for  use 
must  be  carried  up  stairs  and  dirty  water  brought  down  again. 
Here,  as  else- 
where, it  is  not 
necessary  to 
enter  a  door- 
way to  under- 
stand in  part 
the  awful 
meaning  of 
tenement-house 
life. 

In  one  of 
them,  a  few 
w  omen  w  h  o 
worked  for 
a  fashion- 
able cloak- 
manufac- 
turer on 
Canal 
Street  had 
brought 
their  ma- 
chines to- 
gether, and 
then  club- 
bed to  keep 

the  tin  teapot  on  the  little  stove,  filled  with  the  rank  tea 
that  is  their  chief  source  of  strength,  and  hardly  less  destruc- 
tive than  the  drink  most  of  their  husbands  take  from  their 
earnings  to  supply. 


IN  A  TENEMENT-HOUSE   BACKYARD   IN   THE   REAR   OP 
MULBERRY    STREET. 


106  AN  ATMOSPHERE  OF   CRIME. 

Through  the  crowded  streets  the  doctor  made  her  round, 
preaching  the  gospel  of  cleanliness  and  decent  living  as  she 
went,  and  here  and  there  finding  good  ground  on  which  the 
seed  might  bring  forth  fruit.  But  for  the  most  part  there 
seemed  but  one  course  that  could  mean  any  real  good, —  total 
destruction  and  a  new  start ;  like  the  summary  proceedings  in 
Glasgow  in  1870,  when  by  Act  of  Parliament  ten  thousand 
houses  were  torn  down,  and  a  new  city  arose  on  the  spot ;  the 
result  in  two  years  being  an  extraordinary  change  for  the 
better  in  health  returns,  prevention  of  crime,  and  the  raising  of 
a  new  standard  of  living.  But,  save  for  a  model  tenement  here 
and  there, —  tenements,  by  the  way,  which  have  demonstrated 
that  better  things  are  as  possible  for  New  York  as  for  Glasgow, 
—  the  ward  is  given  over  to  this  order  of  home  for  its  inhabit- 
ants. Not  one  day's  visit  but  many  were  needed  to  take  in  all 
features  of  evil  possibility.  There  are  grades  of  degradation 
and  misery  with  which  we  have  yet  to  deal,  but  chief  est  of  all 
sources  of  misery  and  infamy  in  the  better  order  is  the  fact 
that  well  nigh  every  family  harbor  from  two  to  eight  or  ten 
additional  inmates,  and  that  life  is  as  promiscuous  as  that  of 
brutes.  The  saloon  is  a  perpetual  invitation  to  spend  earnings, 
and  the  atmosphere  of  the  ward  is  one  not  only  of  wretched- 
ness but  of  crime  of  every  order. 

Take  one  house  on  a  side  street  just  back  of  the  Water 
Street  Mission.  Four  families  to  a  floor  is  the  general  rule, 
but  the  top  floor  has  a  family  to  every  room.  These  are  rag- 
pickers chiefly,  and  they  pay  four  dollars  a  month  for  this 
accommodation.  In  one  room  are  four  men  and  three  women 
living  together.  In  the  next  a  widow  has  seven  boarders,  and 
the  floor  is  thick  with  them  at  night.  On  the  floor  below 
another  widow  takes  in  servant  girls  out  of  employment,  at 
ten  cents  a  night.  Back  of  her  is  another  ragpicker,  with  four 
boys,  and  they  sort  the  bones  and  rags  in  the  dark  room  open- 
ing from  the  larger  one.  The  Health  Board  has  interfered 
and  forbidden  this,  but  as  their  visits  are  only  occasional  the 
occupant  goes  on  with  his  foul  work.  In  front  of  him  is  a 
washerwoman  with  four  small  children,  and  with  three  men 


WHKKK    CRIMINALS    AUK    BRED. 


107 


as  lodgers  besides  the  two  boys  of  eighteen  and  twenty.  Four 
families  are  on  the  floor  below,  —  nil  earning  wages,  but  all 
drinkers.  In  this  bouse  arc  thirty-two  dark  rooms  with  no 
possibility  of  air  or  light  except  from  the  one  into  which  they 
open.  Whoever  sleeps  in  a  room  like  tins  wakens  with  a  feel- 
ing as  if  an  iron  band  were  screwed  about  the  head,  and  with 
a  craving   and   sinking   at   the   stomach   that  long  ago  they 

learned  to  quiet  with 

whiskey.   Small  won- 

drink. 


RAG-PICKER  s  CELLAB  IN 
AN  ALLEY  OFF  BAXTER 
STREET. 


Small  wonder  that  vice  thrives  and  that  prisons  are  full  and 
asylums  running  over.  From  one  block  alone  in  this  ward,  — 
the  old  Gotham  Court  on  Cherry  Street,  —  hundreds  of  crimi- 
nals have  gone  out,  to  be  followed  by  other  hundreds  from 
other  blocks  close  at  hand. 

The  tall  houses  are  packed  from  sub-cellar  to  attic.     One 
may  see  on  any  summer  night  many  a  roof  crowded  with  rest- 


108  A  TYPICAL  CASE. 

less  and  uneasy  tenants  seeking  relief  from  the  sickening  heat 
of  their  airless  quarters.  If  one  climbs  the  stairs  of  any  of 
these  wretched  tenement-houses  on  a  warm  summer  night,  the 
whole  population  seems  to  have  sought  the  roof,  and  lies  upon 
it  in  every  uncomfortable  attitude,  —  men,  women,  and  child- 
ren huddled  together,  and  all  alike  moaning  in  troubled  sleep. 
Wherever  tenement-houses  rise  this  is  the  only  refuge  from 
the  heat,  and  the  tenant  who  begins  sleep  on  the  doorstep  is 
tolerably  certain  to  end  the  night  on  the  roof. 

It  is  not  always  criminals  and  drunkards  who  house  here. 
Often  respectable  men  and  women  out  of  work  drift  into  the 
neighborhood,  falling  always  a  little  lower  and  lower,  till  the 
worst  is  reached  in  one  of  these  houses  given  over  to  unclean- 
ness.  Sometimes,  driven  by  despair,  they  take  to  drink  and 
end  in  as  wretched  fashion  as  the  original  inhabitants,  and 
sometimes,  though  rarely,  better  days  come  and  they  emerge 
from  the  dens  where  they  have  hidden  and  take  their  rightful 
place  once  more.  To-day,  in  a  fresh  look  at  the  familiar 
ground,  there  shambled  along  the  street  a  man  once  hard- 
working and  honest.  Drink  led  him  here,  and  a  weak  will 
and  constant  temptation  made  him  powerless  to  reform.  He 
married  a  woman  in  the  ward,  who,  as  he  went  lower  and 
lower,  took  in  washing  and  tried  her  best  to  give  the  children  a 
chance.  Eleven  of  these  came  into  the  world,  each  a  little  more 
burdened  than  the  last  with  the  inheritance  of  evil  tendency. 
Five  died  before  they  were  three  weeks  old,  from  want  of 
proper  food  and  from  vitiated  blood.  Two  were  born  idiots 
and  are  in  an  asylum.  Two  are  in  prison  serving  long  terms, 
and  one  has  disappeared.  Those  in  prison  are  having  their 
first  chance  to  learn  a  trade,  to  eat  wholesome  food,  and 
possibly  turn  into  decent  citizens. 

Drink  is  the  curse  of  these  communities.  Not  only  is  the 
temptation  to  drink  created  by  their  fearful  surroundings,  but 
a  positive  craving  for  it  is  engendered  by  the  foul  and  fetid 
atmosphere  they  continually  breathe.  Saloons  flourish  in  these 
localities,  and  stale-beer  dives  are  numerous.  Drink  is  suste- 
nance to  these  people ;  it  dulls  every  sense  of  shame,  takes  the 


THE   POWER   OF   DRINK. 


100 


sharp  edge  from  sorrow,  leaves  the  drinkers  for  a  while  in  a 
fooFs  paradise,  and  ultimately  reduces  them  to  the  Level  of  the 
brutes.     To  many  of  them  the  saloon  is  heaven  compared  to 


the  hell  of  their  miserable 
homes.  A  few  cents  often  ob- 
tained by  pawning  the  last  de- 
cent rag  that  covers  their  shiv- 
ering children  will  buy  enough 
drink  to  make  a  father  or  a 
mother  insensible  to  the 
wretchedness  that  awaits  them 
at  home.     With  these  people  to  be  drunk  is  to  be  happy. 

The  tenement-house  and  its  life  have  done  effectual  work 
and  one  that  goes  on  day  by  day.  It  is  here  that  Ave  must 
seek  for  the  mass  of  the  poor,  and  it  is  here  that  we  find  the 
causes  which,  combined,  are  making  of  the  generation  now 
coming  up  a  terror  in  the  present  and  a  promise  of  future  evil 
beyond  man's  power  to  reckon.     They  are  a  class  apart,  the 


A  TENEMENT-HOUSE 
BACKYARD,  LOOKING 
THROUGH  THE  HALL 
INTO   THE   STREET. 


110  EVIL  TENDENCIES  OF  TENEMENT  CLASSES. 

poor  Irish  forming  by  far  the  larger  proportion.  They  retain 
all  the  most  brutal  characteristics  of  the  Irish  peasant  at  home, 
but  without  the  redeeming  ligkt-heartedness,  the  tender  im- 
pulses, and  strong  affections  of  that  most  perplexing  people. 
Sullen,  malicious,  conscienceless,  with  no  capacity  for  enjoy- 
ment save  in  drink  and  the  lowest  forms  of  debauchery,  they 
are  filling  our  prisons  and  reformatories,  marching  in  an  ever- 
increasing  army  through  the  quiet  country,  and  making  a 
reign  of  terror  wherever  their  footsteps  are  heard.  With  a  lit- 
tle added  intelligence  they  become  Socialists,  doing  their  heart- 
iest to  ruin  the  institutions  by  which  they  live.  The  Socialistic 
leader  knows  well  with  what  he  deals,  and  can  sound  every 
chord  of  jealousy  and  suspicion  and  revenge  lying  open  to  his 
touch. 

And  so  the  evil  thrives ;  and  then  come  ever-increasing 
appropriations  for  prisons,  reformatories,  asylums,  and  homes. 
For  this,  all  give  joyfully,  each  fresh  building  being  pointed  to 
with  pride  as  evidence  of  progress  and  the  beautiful  humanita- 
rian spirit  of  the  age.  Prevention  would  make  less  show,  and 
with  prevention  successfully  at  work  this  chapter  perhaps 
would  have  found  less  material ;  but  till  prevention  is  at- 
tempted New  York  cannot  be  said  to  be  civilized,  nor  indeed 
any  great  city  in  which  the  like  conditions  are  to  be  found. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

NEW  YORK  NEWSBOYS— W1K)  TII1.Y  ARE,  WHERE  THEY  COME 
FROM,  AND  HOW  THEY  LIVE  — THE  WAIFS  AND  STRAYS 
OF  A  GREAT  CITY. 

The  Newsboys'  Code  of  Morals  — Curious  Beds  for  Cold  Winters'  Nights- 
Shivering  Urchins  —  Sleeping  in  a  Burned-out  Safe  —  Creeping  into  Door- 
ways—The Street  Arab  and  the  Gutter-Snipe  — A  Curious  Mixture  of 
Morality  and  Vice  — His  Religion  —  "Kind  o'  Lucky  to  say  a  Prayer" 

—  Newsboys'  Lodging-Houses  —  First  Night  in  a  Soft  Bed  — Favorite 
Songs  —  Trying  Times  in  "Boys'  Meetings"  —  Opening  the  Savings  Bank 

—  The  "Doodes"  —  Pork  and  Beans  —  Popular  Nicknames  —  Teaching 
Self  Help— Western  Homes  for  New  York's  Waifs— "  Wanted,  a  Perfect 
Boy"— How  a  Street  Arab  Went  to  Yale  College  — Newsboy  Orators  — 
A  Loud  Call  for  "Paddy" — "Bummers,  Snoozers,  and  Citizens"  —  Speci- 
mens of  Wit  and  Humor — "Jack  de  Robber"  —  The  "Kid" — "Ain't 
Got  no  Mammy"  —  A  Life  of  Hardship  —  Giving  the  Boys  a  Chance. 

HOW  shall  one  condense  into  one  chapter  the  story  of  an 
army  of  newsboys  in  which  each  individual  represents  a 
case  not  only  of  "  survival  of  the  fittest,"  but  of  an  experience 
that  would  fill  a  volume?  They  are  the  growth  of  but  a  gen- 
eration or  two,  since  only  the  modern  newspaper  and  its  needs 
could  require  the  services  of  this  numberless  host.  Out  of  the 
thousands  of  homeless  children  roaming  the  streets  as  lawless 
as  the  wind,  only  those  with  some  sense  of  honor  could  be 
chosen,  yet  what  honor  could  be  found  in  boys  born  in  the 
slums  and  knowing  vice  as  a  close  companion  from  babyhood 
up? 

This  question  answered  itself  long  ago,  as  many  a  social 
problem  has  done.  The  fact  that  no  papers  could  be  had  by 
them  save  as  paid  for  on  the  spot,  and  that  a  certain  code  of 
morals  was  the  first  necessity  for  any  work  at  all,  developed 
such  conscience  as  lav  in  embryo,  and  brought  about  the  tacitly 

understood  rules  that  have  long  governed  the  small  heathen 

(in) 


112  newsboys'  sleeping  places. 

who  supply  this  prime  need  of  the  business  man,  —  the  morn- 
ing and  evening  papers. 

Most  of  us  have  never  bothered  ourselves  about  how  the 
newsboy  lives.  We  know  that  he  exists.  We  are  too  apt  to 
regard  him  only  as  a  necessary  evil.  What  is  his  daily  life? 
What  becomes  of  him?  Does  he  ever  grow  up  to  man's  estate, 
or  are  his  inches  never  increased  ? 

Though  it  is  by  no  means  true  that  all  newsboys  are  wan- 
derers, yet  most  of  those  seen  in  New  York  streets  have  no 
homes.  Out  from  the  alleys  and  by-ways  of  the  slums  pours 
this  stream  of  child  humanity,  an  army  of  happy  barbarians, 
for  they  are  happy  in  spite  of  privations  that  seem  enough  to 
crush  the  spirit  of  the  bravest.  Comparatively  few  in  number 
before  the  war,  they  increased  manyfold  with  the  demand  of 
that  period,  and  swarm  now  at  every  point  where  a  sale  is 
probable.  Naturally  only  the  brightest  among  them  prospered. 
They  began  as  "street  rats,"  —  the  old  name  of  the  police  for 
them,  —  and  pilfered  and  gnawed  at  all  social  foundations  with 
the  recklessness  and  energy  of  their  prototypes.  Their  life  was 
of  the  hardest.  Driven  out  from  the  dens  in  tenement  districts, 
where  most  of  them  were  born,  to  beg  or  steal  as  need  might 
be,  they  slept  in  boxes,  or  under  stairways,  and  sometimes  in 
hay  barges  in  coldest  nights  of  winter.  Two  of  them  were 
known  to  have  slept  for  an  entire  winter  in  the  iron  tube  of  a 
bridge,  and  two  others  in  a  burned-out  safe  in  Wall  Street* 
Sometimes  they  slipped  into  the  cabin  of  a  ferry-boat.  Old 
boilers  were  a  favorite  refuge,  but  first  and  chief,  then  and 
now,  came  the  steam  gratings,  where  at  any  time  of  night  or 
day  in  winter  one  may  find  a  crowd  of  shivering  urchins  warm- 
ing half -frozen  fingers  and  toes,  or  curled  up  in  a  heap  snatch- 
ing such  sleep  as  is  to  be  had  under  adverse  circumstances. 

Watch  a  group  of  this  nature.  Their  faces  are  old  from 
constant  exposure  as  well  as  from  the  struggle  for  existence. 
Their  thin  clothes  fluttering  in  the  wind  afford  small  protection 
against  winter's  cold,  and  are  made  up  of  contributions  from 
all  sources,  often  rescued  from  the  ragpicker  and  cut  down  to 
meet  requirements.     Shoes  are  of  the  same  order,  but  worn 


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■  §"=  ■"■  k  ± 

®a  *  :f-  "£- 


1  i  ss  =•  < 


PERTINACIOUS    LITTLK    \Y<  MJKKKS. 


115 


only  in  winter,  the  toes  even  then  Looking  stockingless,  from 
gaping  holes  stopped  Bometimes  by  rags  wound  about  the  feet. 
Kicked  and  cuffed  by  every  ruffian  they  meet,  ordered  about 
by  the  police,  creeping  into  doorways  as  winter  storms  r, 
they  lose  no  atom  of  cheer,  and  shame  the  prosperous  passer-bv 
who  gives  them  small  thought  save  as  a  nuisance  to  be  tolerated. 


mm  iliiwiivv'1: 


ieb       m 


lift'!! 

"1    ■ 

ll 


GETTESG   POINTS   FKU.M    THE    LAST    EDITION. 

They  are  the  pertinacious  little  chaps  who  spring  up  at  every 
crossing,  almost  at  every  hour  of  the  day  and  night,  and  thrust 
a  paper  under  your  nose.  They  run  to  every  fire,  and  are 
present  wherever  a  horse  falls  down,  or  a  street  car  gets  into 
trouble,  or  a  brawl  is  in  progress.  They  are  the  boys  who  play 
toss-penny  in  the  sun  in  the  City  Hall  Park,  who  play  baseball 


116  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  THE  NEWSBOY. 

by  electric  light,  who  rob  the  push-cart  of  the  Italian  banana- 
seller,  who  can  scent  a  "copper"  a  block  away,  and  who  always 
have  a  plentiful  supply  of  crocodile  tears  when  caught  in  fla- 
grante delicto. 

The  tiny  fellow  who  flies  across  your  path  with  a  bundle  of 
papers  under  his  arm  found  out,  almost  before  he  ceased  to 
be  a  baby,  that  life  is  very  earnest,  and  he  knows  that  upon 
his  success  in  disposing  of  his  stock  in  trade  depends  his  supper 
and  a  warm  bed  for  the  night.  Though  so  young  he  has  had 
as  many  hard  knocks  as  are  crowded  into  the  lives  of  a  good 
many  folk  twice  his  age.  He  is  every  inch  a  philosopher,  too, 
for  he  accepts  bad  fortune  with  stoical  indifference. 

Homeless  boys  may  be  divided  into  two  classes, —  the  street 
arab  and  the  gutter-snipe.  The  newsboy  may  be  found  in  both 
these  classes.  As  a  street  arab  he  is  strong,  sturdy,  self-reliant, 
full  of  fight,  always  ready  to  take  his  own  part,  as  well  as  that 
of  the  gutter-snipe,  who  naturally  looks  to  him  for  protection. 

Gutter-snipe  is  the  name  which  has  been  given  to  the  more 
weakly  street  arab,  the  little  fellow  who,  though  scarcely  more 
than  a  baby,  is  frequently  left  by  brutalized  parents  at  the 
mercy  of  any  fate,  no  matter  what.  This  little  chap  generally 
roams  around  until  he  finds  some  courageous  street  arab, 
scarcely  bigger  than  himself,  perhaps,  to  fight  his  battles 
and  put  him  in  the  way  of  making  a  living,  which  is  generally 
done  by  selling  papers.  In  time  the  gutter-snipe  becomes  him- 
self a  full-fledged  arab  with  a  large  clientele,  two  hard  and 
ready  fists,  and  a  horde  of  dependent  and  grateful  snipes. 

This  is  the  evolution  of  the  newsboy  wherever  he  be  found. 
Some  of  them  bring  up  in  penal  institutions  and  reformatories, 
and  no  wonder.  Their  mornings  are  too  apt  to  be  spent  in 
pitching  pennies  or  frequenting  policy-shops.  They  are 
passionately  devoted  to  the  theatre,  and  they  will  cheerfully 
give  up  a  prospect  of  a  warm  bed  for  the  night  for  an  evening 
in  some  cheap  playhouse.  Their  applause  is  always  discrim- 
inating. They  despise  humbug,  whether  in  real  life  or  on 
the  mimic  stage.  The  cheap  morality  current  in  Bowery 
plays,  where  the  villain  always  meets  his  just  deserts,  gives 


117 

them  a  certain  standard  which  is  as  high  as  can  well  be 
when  one  lives  among  fighters,  stealers,  gamblers,  and  swear- 
ers. After  squandering  his  earnings  for  an  evening's  enter- 
tainment of  this  sort,  a  convenient  doorway  or  a  sidewalk 
grating,  through  whose  bars  an  occasional  breath  of  warm  air 
is  wafted  from  underground  furnaces  in  winter,  are  often 
the  only  places  he  has  to  sleep.  This  is  the  hoy  who  is  the 
veritable  street  arab,  the  newsboy  pure  and  simple.  Von 
can  see  him  early  any  morning  hugging  some  warm  corner 
or  huddled  into  some  dark  passage,  waiting  for  the  moment 
when  the  papers  shall  be  ready  for  distribution. 

Their  light-heartedness  is  a  miracle.  Merry  as  clowns. 
flashing  back  repartee  to  any  joker,  keen  and  quick  to  take 
points,  they  manage  their  small  affairs  with  a  wisdom  one 
would  believe  impossible.  Their  views  of  life  have  come  from 
association  with  "flash-men"  of  every  order,  with  pugilists, 
pickpockets,  cockflghters,  and  all  the  habitues  of  pot-houses 
or  bucket-shops.  Yet  Charles  L.  Brace  of  the  Children's 
Aid  Society,  who  knew  them  best  and  did  most  for  them, 
wrote : 

"  The  newsboy  has  his  code.  He  will  not  get  drunk ; 
he  pays  his  debts  to  other  boys,  and  thinks  it  dishonorable 
to  sell  papers  on  their  beat,  and,  if  they  come  on  his.  he 
administers  summary  justice  by  '  punching.'  He  is  generous  to 
a  fault  and  will  always  divide  his  last  sixpence  with  a  poorer 
boy.  Life  is  a  strife  with  him,  and  money  its  reward  ;  and  as 
bankruptcy  means  to  a  street  boy  a  night  on  doorsteps  without 
any  supper,  he  is  sharp  and  reckless  if  he  can  only  earn  or  get 
enough  to  keep  him  above  water.  His  temptations  are  to 
cheat,  steal,  and  lie.  His  religion  is  vague.  One  boy,  who 
said  he  'didn't  live  nowhere,'  said  he  had  heard  of  God,  and 
'the  boys  thought  it  kind  o'  lucky'  to  say  over  something 
to  Him  which  one  of  them  had  learned,  when  they  were  sleep- 
ing out  in  boxes." 

Almost  forty  years  ago  these  were  the  conditions  for 
hundreds  as  they  are  to-day  for  thousands,  though  philan- 
thropy has  fought  every  step  of  the  way.  as  industrial  schools, 


118 


THE  FIRST  NEWSBOYS'   LODGING-HOUSE. 


lodging-houses,  and  Homes  bear  witness.  Chief  among  these 
rank  the  Newsboys'  Lodging-Houses,  in  many  respects  the 
most  unique  sight  to  be  seen  in  New  York. 

A  thousand  difficulties  hedged  about  the  wajT  of  those  who 
first  sought  to  make  life  easier  for  this  class,  not  the  least 
of  which  were  how  not  to  assail  too  roughly  their  established 
opinions  and  habits,  nor  to  touch  their  sturdy  independence. 
They  had  a  terror  of  Sunday-schools,  believing  them  only 
a  sort  of  trap  to  let  them  suddenly  into  the  House  of  Eefuge  or 
some  equally  detested  place.     Even  when  the  right  sort  of 

superintendent  had  been 
found,  and  a  loft  had 
been  secured  in  the  old 
"  Sun "  building  and 
fitted  up  as  a  lodging- 
room,  the  small  skeptics 
regarded  the  movement 
with  great  suspicion  and 
contempt. 

It  was  in  March, 
1854,  that  the  new  quar- 
ters were  opened.  A 
good  bed,  a  bath,  a  sup- 
per, the  first  two  for 
six  cents,  the  last  for 
four,  was  evidently  a 
fact,  but  behind  this 
fact  what  dark  design 
might  not  lurk !  They 
formed  their  own  theo- 
ry at  once.  The  Super- 
intendent was  to  their 
mind  undoubtedly  a 
street-preacher,  and  had 
laid  this  elaborate  trap 
to  get  them  into  the  House  of  Eefuge.  They  accepted  his 
invitation  for  a  single  night,  which  they  concluded  would  be 


EXT-R-A-H   'DISHUN.' 


THE   FIRST   NIGHT   IN   A   SOFT   BED,  119 

better  than  "bummm',"  that  is,  sleeping  out  ;  but  they  planned 
to  turn  it  into  a  general  scrimmage  in  the  schoolroom  after 
they  had  cut  off  the  gas,  and  end  with  a  line  row  in  the 
bedroom. 

Never  was  there  a  blander  or  more  benevolent  reception 
of  such  programme.  Gas-pipes  were  guarded  ;  the  ringleaders 
were  sent  down  to  the  lower  floor,  where  an  officer  was  in 
waiting;  and  up  in  the  bedroom,  when  the  first  boots  flew 
from  a  little  fellow's  bed  across  the  room,  he  found  himself 
suddenly  snaked  out  by  a  gentle  but  muscular  hand,  and  left  in 
the  cold  to  shiver  over  his  folly.  Mysteriously  it  dawned  upon 
them  all  that  authority  reigned  here  and  was  getting  even  with 
them,  and  they  finally  settled  down  to  sleep,  suspicious  stilly 
but  half  believing  good  might  be  meant. 

The  night  went  on,  broken  now  and  then  by  ejaculations 
from  the  new  tenants.  "My  eyes!  Ain't  these  soft  beds!" 
"I  say  Jim!  This  is  better' n  bummin'  ain't  it?"  -Hi,  Tat! 
It's  most  as  good  as  a  steam  gratin',  an'  not  a  cop  to  poke 
you  up ! " 

A  morning  wash  and  a  good  breakfast  completed  the 
conversion.  One  and  all  they  went  out  sounding  the  praises 
of  the  "  Fulton  Lodge,"  which  soon  became  a  boys'  hotel, 
one  loft  being  known  to  them  as  the  Astor  House.  Often  the 
boys  clubbed  together  to  pay  the  fee  for  the  boy  who  wanted 
to  try  it  and  had  no  pennies  saved,  and  each  one  came  at  last 
to  look  upon  the  place  as  in  degree  his  private  property. 
No  word  as  to  school  had  yet  been  spoken,  but  one  evening  the 
Superintendent  said : 

"Boys,  there  was  a  gentleman  here  this  morning  who 
wanted  an  office-boy  at  three  dollars  a  week." 

"  My  eyes !  Let  me  go,  sir  ? "  and  "  Me,  me,  sir ! "  came  in 
loud  voice  from  scores  of  excited  boys. 

"  But  he  wanted  a  boy  who  could  write  a  good  hand." 

Deep  dejection  among  the  boys,  who  looked  at  each  other 
blankly. 

"  Well  now,  suppose  wre  have  a  night  school  and  learn  to 
write,"  the  Superintendent  ventured. 


120  newsboys'  favorite  songs. 

"  All  right,  sir,"  sounded  from  a  dozen  of  the  most  unruly. 
Soon  the  .evening  school  began,  and  the  tired  little  fellows 
struggled  with  their  copy-books  and  readers,  —  learning,  how- 
ever, with  surprising  success. 

Already  they  had  been  taught  to  sing  together  in  the  even- 
ing, generally  preparing  for  the  ceremony  by  taking  off  their 
coats  and  rolling  up  their  sleeves,  but  no  mention  had  yet 
been  made  of  any  Sunday  meeting.  A  great  public  funeral 
produced  a  profound  impression  upon  them,  and  the  Super- 
intendent for  the  first  time  read  them  a  little  from  the  Bible. 
They  were  astonished  at  what  they  heard.  The  Golden  Eule 
they  declared  to  be  impossible  for  "  fellers  that  got  stuck  and 
short  and  had  to  live." 

Miracles  from  Holy  Writ  created  no  surprise,  and  they 
found  great  satisfaction  in  learning  that  a  being  like  Jesus 
Christ  was  homeless  and  belonged  to  the  working  classes. 
Whatever  gentle  elements  were  in  them  seemed  to  find  ex- 
pression in  their  singing.  "There's  Kest  for  the  Weary"  was  a 
great  favorite  with  these  untiring  little  workers,  and  "  There's 
a  Light  in  the  Window  for  thee,  Brother,"  they  sang  with 
deepest  pathos,  as  if  they  imagined  themselves  wandering 
alone  through  a  great  city  by  night  till  some  friendly  light 
shone  out  for  them. 

The  early  days  of  those  "Boys'  Meetings"  were  stormy. 
The  boys,  as  is  well  known,  are  exceedingly  sharp  and  keen, 
and  somewhat  given  to  chaff.  Unhappy  was  the  experience 
of  any  daring  missionary  who  ventured  to  question  these 
youthful  inquirers. 

How  to  break  up  their  special  vice  of  money- wasting  was 
the  next  problem,  and  this  was  accomplished  by  opening  a 
savings  bank  and  letting  the  boys  vote  as  to  how  long  it 
should  remain  closed.  The  small  daily  deposits  accumulated 
in  such  degree  as  to  amaze  their  owners  ;  the  liberal  interest 
allowed  pleased  them  and  stimulated  economy,  and  thus  was 
formed  the  habit  of  saving  which  is  now  regarded  by  all  of 
them  as  part  of  the  business.  Often  three  hundred  dollars  and 
more  are  deposited  in  a  month,  and  this  has  done  much  to 


CLEANLINESS   OF   THE    NEWSBOYS'    LODGING-HOUSES,       1  J 1 


break  up  the  habit  of  buying  policy-tickets,  though  that  re- 
mains a  constant  temptation. 

The  old  building  soon  proved  inadequate,  and  another  one 

was  taken  at  49  and  51  Park  Place,  which  was  retained  for 
many  years.  Its  Superintendent  had  been  in  the  British  army 
in  the  Crimea,  and  was  a  man  of  excellent  discipline  hut 
generous  in  feeling  and  a  "good  provider."  The  house  was 
kept  clean  as  a  man-of-war's  deck,  and  no  boy  ever  left  the 
table  hungry.  Ilis  wife  was  equally  valuable,  and  many  a 
man,  once  a  newsboy,  looks  back  to  both  as  the  closest  friends 
his  youth  ever  knew. 

to 


THE  SCHOOL  ROOM  AND  GENERAL 
RECEPTION  ROOM  IX  THE  NEWS- 
BOYS'   LODGING-HOUSE. 


In  1S69  and  1S70  8,835  different  boys  were  entered.  Many 
of  them  found  good  homes  through  the  agency  of  the  Child- 
ren's Aid  Society;  some  found  places  for  themselves;  and 
some  drifted  away  no  one  knows  where,  too  deeply  tainted 
with  the  vices  of  street  life  for  reclamation.  In  this  same  year 
the  lads  themselves  paid  $3,349  toward  expenses. 

What  sort  of  home  is  it  that  their  money  helps  to  pro- 
vide? The  present  one,  with  its  familiar  sign,  "Newsboys' 
Lodging  House,"  on  the  corner  of  Duane  and  Chambers  Street. 
is  planned  like  the  old  one  on  Park  Place.     The  cleanliness  is 


122  COMFORTABLE   QUARTERS   AT  A  LOW   PRICE. 

perfect,  for  in  all  the  years  since  its  founding  no  case  of  con- 
tagious disease  has  occurred  among  the  boys.  The  first  story 
is  rented  for  use  as  shops.  The  next  has  a  large  dining-room 
where  nearly  two  hundred  boys  can  sit  down  at  table;  a 
kitchen,  laundry,  store-room,  servant's  room,  and  rooms  for 
the  family  of  the  superintendent.  The  next  story  is  parti- 
tioned off  into  a  school-room,  gymnasium,  and  bath  and  wash- 
rooms, all  fully  supplied  with  cold  and  hot  water,  a  steam- 
boiler  below  providing  both  the  latter  and  the  means  of  heat- 
ing the  rooms.  The  two  upper  stories  are  large  and  roomy 
dormitories,  each  furnished  with  from  fifty  to  one  hundred 
beds  or  berths,  arranged  like  a  ship's  bunks,  over  each  other. 
The  beds  have  spring  mattresses  of  wire  and  are  supplied  with 
white  cotton  sheets  and  plenty  of  comforters.  For  these  beds 
the  boys  pay  six  cents  a  night  each,  including  supper.  For 
ten  cents  a  boy  may  hire  a  "private  room,"  which  consists  of 
a  square  space  curtained  off  from  the  vulgar  gaze  and  supplied 
with  a  bed  and  locker.  The  private  rooms  are  always  full, 
no  matter  what  the  population  of  the  dormitories  may  be, 
showing  that  the  newsboy  shares  the  weakness  of  his  more 
fortunate  brothers. 

Up  to  midnight  the  little  lodgers  are  welcome  to  enter 
the  house,  but  la/ter  than  that  they  are  not  admitted.  Once 
in,  he  is  expected  after  supper  to  attend  the  night  school  and 
remain  until  the  end  of  the  session;  and  once  outside  the 
door  after  the  hour  of  closing  he  must  make  the  best  of  a 
night  in  the  streets. 

Confident  of  his  ability  to  take  care  of  himself,  he  resents 
the  slightest  encroachment  upon  his  freedom.  The  discipline 
of  the  lodging-house,  therefore,  does  not  seek  to  impose  any 
more  restraints  upon  him  than  those  which  are  absolutely  nec- 
essary. He  goes  and  comes  as  he  pleases,  except  that  if  he 
accepts  the  hospitality  of  the  lodging-house  he  must  abide  by 
the  rules  and  regulations. 

Supper  is  served  at  seven  o'clock  and  is  usually  well  pat- 
ronized, especially  on  Mondays  and  Thursdays,  which  are  pork- 
and-beans  days.     Every  boy  has  his  bed-number,  which  corres- 


HOW   THE   BOYS   LIVE   IN   THEIR    HOME. 


123 


ponds  with  the  number  of  the  locker  in  which  he  keeps  his 
clothes.  "When  he  is  ready  to  retire  he  applies  to  the  superin- 
tendent's assistant,  who  sits  beside  the  keyboard.  The  Lodger 
gives  his  number  and  is  handed  the  key  of  his  Locker3  in  which 
he  bestows  all  his  clothing  but  his  shirt  and  trousers.  II e 
then  mounts  to  the  dormitory,  and  after  carefully  secreting  his 
shirt  and  trousers  under  his  mattress  is  ready  for  the  sleep  of 
childhood. 


BOYS  APPLYING  TO  THE  SUPERINTENDENT  FOR  A  NIGHT  S  LODGING. 

The  boys  are  wakened  at  different  hours.  Some  of  them 
rise  as  early  as  two  o'clock  and  go  down  town  to  the  news- 
paper offices  for  their  stock  in  trade.  Others  rise  between 
that  hour  and  five  o'clock.  All  hands,  however,  are  routed 
out  at  seven.  The  boys  may  enjoy  instruction  in  the  rudi- 
mentary branches  every  night  from  half -past  seven  until  nine 
o'clock,  with  the  exception  of  Sundays,  when  devotional  ser- 
vices are  held  and  addresses  made  by  well-known  citizens. 

A  large  majority  of  the  boys  who  frequent  the  lodging- 
houses  are  waifs  pure  and  simple.  They  have  never  known 
a  mother's  or  a  father's  care,  and  have  no  sense  of  identity. 
Generally  they  have  no  name,  or  if  they  ever  had  one  have 
preferred  to  convert  it  into  something  short  and  practically 


124 

descriptive.  As  a  rule  they  are  known  by  nicknames  and 
nothing  else,  and  in  speaking  of  one  another  they  generally 
do  so  by  these  names.  As  a  rule  these  names  indicate  some 
personal  peculiarity  or  characteristic.  On  a  recent  visit  to  a 
Newsboys'  Lodging  House  pains  were  taken  to  learn  the 
names  of  a  group  of  boys  who  were  holding  an  animated 
conversation.  It  was  a  representative  group.  A  very  thin 
little  fellow  was  called  " Skinny";  another  boy  with  light 
hair  and  complexion,  being  nearly  as  blonde  as  an  albino,  was 
known  only  as  "Whitey."  When  "Slobbery  Jack"  was  asked 
how  he  came  by  his  name,  "Bumlets,"  who  appeared  to  be 
chief  spokesman  of  the  party,  exclaimed,  "When  he  eats  he 
scatters  all  down  hisself."  "  Yaller"  wras  the  name  given  to  an 
Italian  boy  of  soft  brown  complexion.  Near  him  stood  "Kelly 
the  Kake,"  who  owned  but  one  sleeve  to  his  jacket.  In  news- 
boy parlance  a  "rake"  is  a  boy  who  will  appropriate  to  his 
own  use  anything  he  can  lay  his  hands  on.  No  one  could 
give  an  explanation  of  "  Snoddy's  "  name  nor  what  it  meant,  — 
it  w^as  a  thorough  mystery  to  even  the  savants  in  newsboy 
parlance.  In  the  crowd  was  "The  Snitcher,"  —  "a  fellow 
w'at  tattles,"  said  Bumlets,  contemptuously,  and  near  by  stood 
the  "King  of  Crapshooters."  "A  crapshooter,"  said  Bumlets, 
"  is  a  fellow  w'ats  fond  of  playin'  toss-penny,  thro  win'  dice,  an' 
goin'  to  policy  shops."  The  "King  of  Bums"  was  a  tall  and 
rather  good-looking  lad,  who,  no  doubt,  had  come  honestly 
by  his  name.  The  "Snipe-Shooter"  was  guilty  of  smoking 
cigar-stubs  picked  out  of  the  gutter,  a  habit  known  among 
the  boys  as  "snipe-shooting."  "Hoppy,"  a  little  lame  boy; 
"Dutchy,"  a  German  lad;  "Smoke,"  a  colored  boy;  "Pie- 
eater,"  a  boy  very  fond  of  pie ;  "  Sheeney,"  "  Skittery,"  "  Bag 
of  Bones,"  "One  Lung  Pete,"  and  "Scotty"  were  in  the  same 
group;  and  so  also  was  "Jake  the  Oyster,"  a  tender-hearted 
boy  who  was  spoken  of  by  the  others  as  "a  reg'lar  soft 
puddin'." 

Every  boy  shown  in  the  full-page  illustration  was  proud  of 
the  fact  that  he  "  carried  the  banner,"  i.  e.,  was  in  the  habit  of 
sleeping  out  doors  at  night.     Only  the  bitterest  cold  of  winter 


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MAKING    LIQUOR    I'AV    FOR   ITS   FRUIT. 


127 


of  the  lodging 


drove  them  to  seek  fche  shelter  and  warmth 

house.    An  empty  barrel  or  dry  goods  box  ;  deserted  hallways, 

dark  alleys,  or  fche  rear  of  buildings  were  fche  only  sleeping 

places  these  boys  had  at  night  from  early  spring  to  mid-winter. 

The  sixty  thousand  dollars  required  for  fitting  up  fche 
building  was  raised  in  part  by  private  subscription  and  in  part 
by  an  appropriation  of  thirty  thousand  dollars  from  the  Excise 
fund,  by  the 
Legislature,  it 
being  regard- 
e d  as  just 
that  those 
who  do  most 
to  form 
d  r  u  n  k  a  r  d  s 
should  be 
forced  to  aid 
in  the  ex- 
pense of  the 
care  of 
drunkards' 
children. 
This  fund 
grew  slowly. 
but  by  good 
investment 
was  increased 

to  eighty  thousand  dollars,  and  with  this  the  permanent  home 
of  the  newsboys  in  this  part  of  the  city  has  been  assured.  It 
is  their  school,  church,  intelligence-office,  and  hotel. 

Here  the  homeless  street  boy,  instead  of  drifting  into 
thieves'  dens  and  the  haunts  of  criminals  and  roughs,  is 
brought  into  a  clean,  healthy,  well  warmed  and  lighted  build- 
ing where  he  finds  room  for  amusement,  instruction,  and 
religious  training,  and  where  good  meals,  a  comfortable  bed, 
and  plenty  of  washing  and  bathing  conveniences  are  furnished 
at  a  low  price.     The  boy  is  not  pauperized,  but  feels  that  he  is 


THE  WASH-ROOM  IN  THE  NEWS- 
BOYS' LODGING  HOUSE  JUST 
BEFORE   SUPPER   TIME. 


128 

in  his  own'  hotel  and  supporting  himself.  Some  are  loaned 
money  to  begin  business  with ;  others  are  sent  to  places  in  the 
city  or  far  away  in  the  country.  The  whole  class  are  partly 
redeemed  and  educated  by  these  simple  influences.  The  pau- 
per is  scarcely  ever  known  to  have  come  out  of  these  houses, 
and  self-help  is  the  first  lesson  learned. 

Since  the  foundation  of  the  first  Newsboys'  Lodging  House 
in  1854,  the  various  homes  have  sheltered  nearly  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  different  boys  at  a  total  expense  of  about 
four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  The  amount  contrib- 
uted by  the  lads  themselves  during  these  years  is  nearly  one 
hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand  dollars.  Multitudes  have 
been  sent  to  good  homes  in  the  West. 

To  awaken  the  demand  for  these  children,  thousands  of  cir- 
culars were  sent  out,  through  the  city  weeklies  and  the 
rural  newspapers,  to  the  country  districts.  Hundreds  of  ap- 
plications poured  in  at  once  from  the  farmers,  especially  from 
the  West.  At  first  an  effort  was  made  to  meet  individual  ap- 
plications by  sending  just  the  kind  of  boy  wanted.  Each 
applicant  wanted  a  "  perfect  boy,"  without  any  of  the  taints  of 
earthly  depravity.  He  must  be  well  made,  of  good  stock, 
never  disposed  to  steal  apples  or  pelt  cattle,  using  language  of 
perfect  propriety,  fond  of  making  fires  at  daylight,  and  delight- 
ing in  family-worship  and  prayer-meetings  more  than  in  fishing 
or  skating. 

The  defects  of  the  first  plan  of  emigration  were  speedily 
developed,  and  another  and  more  practicable  one  inaugurated 
which  has  since  been  followed.  Companies  of  boys  are  formed, 
and  after  thoroughly  cleaning  and  clothing  them  they  are  put 
under  a  competent  agent  and  distributed  among  the  farmers, 
the  utmost  care  being  taken  to  select  good  homes  for  all.  The 
parties  are  usually  made  up  from  the  brightest  and  most 
deserving,  though  often  one  picked  up  in  the  street  tells  a  story 
so  pitiful  and  so  true  that  he  is  included. 

Once  a  dirty  little  fellow  presented  himself  to  the  Superin- 
tendent. "  Please,  sir,  I'm  an  orphant,  an'  I  want  a  home ! " 
The  Superintendent  eyed  him  carefully ;  he  saw,  amid  his  rags, 


DETECTING    AN    IMPOSTOR. 


129 


a  neatly-sewed  patch,   and   noted  thai   his  naked    feet  were 
too  white  for  a  "  bummer."    Ee  took  him  to  the  inner  office. 
%*  My  boy  !     Where  do  yon  live?    Where's  your  father  '." 
"Please,   sir,   I   don't  live  nowhere,  an5    1  hain't  got   no 
father,  an'  me  mither's  dead!"      Then   followed  a   long  and 
touching  story   of    his   orphanage,   the    tears    flowing  down 
his  cheeks.     The  bystanders  were  almost  melted    themselves. 
Not  so  the  Superintendent.    Grasping  the  boy  by  the  shoulder, 
"  Where's  your  mother,  I  say  ? " 


■ 

- 


IN   ONE   OF   THE   DORMITORIES   IN   TIIE   NEWSBOYS'   LODGING-HOUSE. 

"Oh,  dear,  I'm  a  poor  orphant,  an'  I  hain't  got  no 
mither." 

"Where  is  your  mother,  I  say?  Where  do  you  live?  I 
give  you  just  three  minutes  to  tell,  and  then,  if  you  do  not,  I 
shall  hand  you  over  to  the  police." 

The  lad  yielded,  his  true  story  was  told,  and  a  runaway  re- 
stored to  his  family. 

An  average  of  three  thousand  a  year  is  sent  to  the  West, 
many  of  whom  are  formally  adopted.  A  volume  would  not 
suffice  for  the  letters  that  come  back,  or  the  strange  experi- 
ences of  many  a  boy  who  under  the  new  influences  grows  into 


130  AN   INTERESTING   STORY. 

an  honored  citizen.  The  following  letter  is  but  one  of  thou- 
sands received  from  these  boys : 

Yale  College,  New  Haven. 
"Rev.  C.  L.  Brace, 

"Dear  Sir  : — I  shall  endeavor  in  this  letter  to  give  you  a  brief  sketch  of 
my  life,  as  it  is  your  request  that  I  should. 

"  I  cannot  speak  of  my  parents  with  any  certainty  at  all.  I  recollect  hav- 
ing an  aunt  by  the  name  of  Julia  B .     She  had  me  in  charge  for  some 

time,  and  made  known  some  things  to  me  of  which  I  have  a  faint  remem- 
brance. She  married  a  gentleman  in  Boston,  and  left  me  to  shift  for  myself 
in  the  streets  of  your  city.  I  could  not  have  been  more  than  seven  or  eight 
years  of  age  at  this  time.  She  is  greatly  to  be  excused  for  this  act,  since  I  was 
a  very  bad  boy,  having  an  abundance  of  self-will. 

"  At  this  period"  I  became  a  lawless  vagrant,  roaming  all  over  the  city.  I 
would  often  pick  up  a  meal  at  the  markets  or  at  the  docks,  where  they  were 
unloading  fruit.  At  a  late  hour  in  the  night  I  would  find  a  resting-place  in 
some  box  or  hogshead,  or  in  some  dark  hole  under  a  staircase. 

"The  boys  that  I  fell  in  company  with  would  steal  and  swear,  and  of 
course  I  contracted  those  habits  too.  I  have  a  distinct  recollection  of  stealing 
on  to  the  roofs  of  houses  to  tear  the  lead  from  around  the  chimneys,  and  then 
taking  it  to  some  junk-shop  and  selling  it ;  with  the  proceeds  I  would  buy  a 
ticket  for  the  pit  in  a  cheap  theatre,  and  something  to  eat  with  the  remainder. 
This  is  the  manner  in  which  I  was  drifting  out  in  the  stream  of  life,  when 
some  kind  person  from  the  Children's  Aid  Society  took  me  in  charge.  Two 
years  after  one  of  your  agents  came  and  asked  how  many  boys  who  had  no 
parents  would  love  to  have  nice  homes  in  the  West,  where  they  could  drive 
horses  and  oxen,  and  have  as  many  apples  and  melons  as  they  could  eat. 
I  happened  to  be  one  of  the  many  who  responded  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Twenty -one  of  us  had  homes  procured  for  us  in  Indiana.     A  lawyer  from 

T ,  who  chanced  to  be  engaged  in  court  matters,  was  at  N at 

the  time.  He  desired  to  take  a  boy  home  with  him,  and  I  was  the  one  assigned 
him.  He  owns  a  farm  of  two  hundred  acres  lying  close  to  town.  Care  was 
taken  that  I  should  be  occupied  there  and  not  in  town.  I  was  always  treated 
as  one  of  the  family.  In  sickness  I  was  ever  cared  for  by  kind  attention. 
In  winter  I  was  sent  to  the  Public  School.  The  family  room  was  a  good 
school  room  to  me,  for  there  I  found  the  daily  papers  and  a  fair  library. 

"  After  a  period  of  several  years  I  taught  a  public  school  in  a  little  log 

cabin  about  nine  miles  from  T .     There  I  felt  that  every  man  ought  to 

be  a  good  man,  especially  if  he  is  to  instruct  little  children. 

"  Though  I  had  my  pupils  read  the  Bible,  yet  I  could  not. openly  ask  God's 
blessing  on  the  efforts  of  the  day.     Shortly  after  I  united  with  the  Church. 

Previous  to  this  I  had  attended  Sabbath  school  at  T .    Mr.  G 

placed  me  in  one  the  first  Sabbath.  I  never  doubted  the  teachings  of  the 
Scriptures.  Soon  my  pastor  presented  the  claims  of  the  ministry.  I  thought 
about  it  for  some  time,  for  my  ambition  was  tending  strongly  toward  the 


FROM   THE   GUTTER  TO  COLLEGE.  L31 

legal  profession.    The  more  I  reflected  the  more  I  fell  how  good  God  had 

been  to  me  all  my  life,  and  that  if  I  had  any  ability  for  laboring  in  His  har- 
vest, He  was  surely  entitled  to  it. 

"  I  had  accumulated  some  property  on  the  farm  in  the  shape  of  a  horse,  a 
yoke  of  oxen,  etc.,  amounting  in  all  to  some  $300.  These  I  turned  into  cash, 
and  left  for  a   preparatory  school.     This  course  that   I  had  entered   upon  did 

not  meet  with  Mr.  G 's  hearty  approbation.     At  the  academy  I  found 

kind  instructors  and  sympathizing  friends.  I  remained  there  three  years, 
relying  greatly  upon  my  own  efforts  for  support.  After  entering  college  last 
year,  I  was  enabled  to  go  through  by  the  kindness  of  a  few  citizens. 

"I  have  now  resumed  my  studies  as  a  sophomore,  in  faith  in  Him  who  lias 
ever  been  my  best  friend.  If  I  can  prepare  myself  for  acting  well  my  part  in 
life  by  going  through  the  college  curriculum,  I  shall  be  satisfied. 

"  I  shall  ever  acknowledge  with  gratitude  that  the  Children's  Aid  Society 
has  been  the  instrument  of  my  elevation. 

"  To  be  taken  from  the  gutters  of  New  York  city  and  placed  in  a  college 
is  almost  a  miracle. 

"I  am  not  an  exception  either.     W.  F ,  who  was  also  taken  West, 

in  a  letter  received  from  W College,  writes  me:    'I  have  heard  that 

you  were  studying  for  the  ministry  ;  so  am  I.  I  have  a  long  time  yet  before 
I  enter  the  field,  but  I  am  young  and  at  the  right  age  to  begin.'  My  prayer 
is  that  the  Society  may  be  amplified  to  greater  usefulness. 

Yours  very  truly, 

J.  G.  B." 

The  stranger  in  New  York  can  hardly  find  a  more  interest- 
ing sight  than  the  gymnasium  or  schoolroom  through  the  week, 
or  the  crowded  Sunday  night  meeting,  where  the  singing  is 
always  a  fascinating  part  of  the  programme.  Thanksgiving 
Day,  with  its  dinner,  is  no  less  amusing  and  suggestive.  The 
boys  watch  all  visitors  and  know  by  instinct  how  far  they  are 
in  sympathy  with  them.  They  call  loudly  for  talk  from  any 
one  whose  face  appeals  to  them.  Often  they  make  speeches  on 
their  own  account.  Here  is  a  specimen  taken  down  by  a 
stenographer  who  had  been  given  a  dark  corner  at  the  end  of 
the  room  and  thus  was  not  suspected  by  the  boys. 

Mr.  Brace,  whose  appearance  always  called  out  applause, 
had  brought  down  some  friends,  and  after  one  or  two  of  them 
had  spoken,  he  said, 

"Boys,  I  want  my  friends  to  see  that  you  have  some 
talkers  amongst  yourselves.  Whom  do  you  choose  for  your 
speaker  ? " 


132 


A  LOUD   CALL   FOR  PADDY. 


"  Paokty,  Paddy ! "  they  shouted.  "  Come  out,  Paddy,  an' 
show  yerself." 

Paddy  came  forward  and  mounted  a  stool ;  a  youngster  not 
more  than  twelve,  with  little  round  eyes,  a  short  nose  profusely 
freckled,  and  a  lithe  form  full  of  fun. 

"Bummers,"  he  began,  "  Snoozers,  and  citizens,  I've  come 
down  here  among  yer  to  talk  to  yer  a  little.     Me  an'  me  friend 


THE   GYMNASIUM   IN   THE   NEWSBOYS     LODGING-HOUSE. 

Brace  have  come  to  see  how  ye're  gittin'  along  an'  to  advise 
yer.  You  fellers  w'at  stands  at  the  shops  with  yer  noses  over 
the  railin',  a  smellin'  of  the  roast  beef  an'  hash,  —  you  fellers 
who's  got  no  home,  —  think  of  it,  how  are  we  to  encourage 
yer.  [Derisive  laughter,  and  various  ironical  kinds  of  ap- 
plause.] I  say  bummers,  for  ye're  all  bummers,  [in  a  tone  of 
kind  patronage,]  I  was  a  bummer  once  meself.  [Great  laugh- 
ter.] I  hate  to  see  yer  spending  yer  money  for  penny  ice- 
creams an'  bad  cigars.  Why  don't  yer  save  yer  money  ?  You 
feller  without  no  boots  over  there,  how  would  you  like  a  new 
pair,  eh  ?  [Laughter  from  all  the  boys  but  the  one  addressed.] 
Well,  I  hope  you  may  get  'em.  Kayther  think  you  won't.  I 
have  hopes  for  yer  all.     I  want  yer  to  grow  up  to  be  rich  men, 


newsboys'  wit  and  humor.  133 

—  citizens,  gover'ment  men,  lawyers,  ginerals,  an'  inflooence 
men.  Well,  boys,  I'll  tell  yrv  a  story.  Me  dad  was  a  hard  an. 
One  beautiful  day  he  went  on  a  spree,  an3  lie  come  home  an' 
told  me,  where's  yer  mother?  an'  I  axed  him  I  didn't  know,  an5 
he  clipped  me  over  the  head  with  an  iron  pot  an'  knocked  me 
down,  an'  me  mother  drapped  in  on  him  air  at  it  they  wint. 
[Hi-hi's  and  demonstrative  applause.]  An'  at  it  they  wint 
agin,  an'  at  it  they  kept ;  ye  should  have  seen  'em,  an'  whilst 
they  were  a  fightin'  I  slipped  meself  out  o'  the  back  dure  an' 
away  I  wint  like  a  scart  dog.  Well,  boys,  I  wint  on  till  I  come 
to  a  Home ;  [great  laughter  among  the  boys]  an'  they  tuk  me 
in,  [renewed  laughter]  an'  thin  I  ran  awTay,  an'  here  I  am. 
Kowr,  boys,  be  good,  mind  yer  manners,  copy  me,  an'  see  what 
ye'll  become." 

A  boy  wTho  wished  to  advocate  the  claims  of  the  West,  to 
which  he  was  soon  to  go  with  a  party  sent  out  from  the  Child- 
ren's Aid  Society,  made  a  long  speech,  a  paragraph  of  which 
will  show  the  sense  of  humor  which  seems  to  be  the  common 
property  of  all. 

"  Do  ye  want  to  be  newsboys  always,  an'  shoeblacks,  an' 
timber  merchants  in  a  small  way  sellin'  matches  ?  If  ye  do, 
ye'll  stay  in  New  York  ;  but  if  ye  don't,  ye'll  go  out  West 
an'  begin  to  be  farmers,  for  the  beginning  of  a  farmer,  me  boys, 
is  the  makin'  of  a  Congressman  an'  a  President.  Do  ye  want 
to  be  rowrdies  an'  loafers  an'  shoulder-hitters  ?  If  ye  do,  why, 
thin,  ye  can  keep  around  these  diggins.  Do  ye  want  to  be  gin- 
tlemin  an'  indepindent  citizens  ?  Ye  do  ?  Thin  make  tracks 
fer  the  West.  If  ye  want  to  be  snoozers,  an'  bummers,  an' 
policy-players,  an'  Peter-Funk  min,  why  ye'll  hang  up  yer  caps 
an'  stay  round  the  groggeries ;  but  if  ye  want  to  be  min  to 
make  yer  mark  in  the  country  ye'll  get  up  steam  an'  go  ahead, 
an'  there's  lots  on  the  prairies  waiting  for  the  likes  o'  ye. 
Well,  I'll  now  come  off  the  stump.  I'm  booked  for  the  West 
in  the  next  company  from  the  Lodging-House.  I  hear  they 
have  big  school-houses  there,  an'  a  place  for  me  in  the  winter 
time.  I've  made  up  me  mind  to  be  somebody,  an'  you'll  find 
me  on  a  farm  in  the  West  an'  I  hope  yees  will  come  to  see  me 


134 


PLACES  OF  REFUGE  FOR  STREET  BOYS. 


soon.     I,  thank  ye,  boys,  for  yer  patient  attintion.     I  can't 
say  no  more  at  present,  boys.     Good  bye." 

The  newsboys'  lodging-houses  are  like  the  ancient  cities  of 
refuge  to  these  little  fellows,  and  yet  there  are  cases  which 
the  lodging-houses  never  reach. 


AN  EVENING  GAME  OP  DOMINOES 
IN  THE  NEWSBOYS'  LODGING- 
HOUSE. 


"  Recently,"  said  a  gentleman,  "  I  found  a  tiny  fellow  play- 
ing a  solitary  game  of  marbles  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  City 
Hall  corridors.  His  little  legs  were  very  thin,  and  dark  circles 
under  his  big  gray  eyes  intensified  the  chalk-like  pallor  of  his 
cheeks.  He  looked  up  when  he  became  aware  that  some  one 
was  watching  him,  but  resumed  his  game  of  solitaire  as  soon 
as  he  saw  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from  the  intruder. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  my  little  fellow  ? "  I  asked. 

The  mite  hastily  gathered  up  all  his  marbles  and  stowed 


"jack  de  robber"  and  his  lieutenant.  135 

them  very  carefully  away  in  his  capacious  trousers  pocket. 
Then  he  hacked  up  against  the  wall  and  surveyed  me  doubt- 
fully. I  repeated  my  question,  —  this  time  more  gently,  so  as 
to  reassure  him. 

"I'm  waitin5  fur  Jack  de  Robber,"  he  piped,  and  then,  as 
he  began  to  gain  confidence,  seeing  no  signs  of  " swipes" 
about  me,  he  added,  "  him  as  brings  me  de  Telies  (Dailies) 
every  day." 

"  And  you  sell  the  papers  ? " 

"  I  sells  'em  for  Jack,"  he  promptly  answered. 

I  was  glad,  when  I  looked  at  the  lad's  attire,  that  he  was 
protected  for  the  time  being  by  the  comparative  warmth  of  the 
corridor.  Outdoors  it  was  cold  and  blustering.  Still  I  re- 
solved to  wait  and  see  "  Jack  de  Bobber."  Shortly  after  three 
o'clock  a  short  chunky  boy  with  a  shock  of  black  hair  hustled 
through  the  door  and  made  in  the  direction  of  my  pale  little 
friend.  He  was  struggling  with  a  big  mass  of  papers  and  was 
issuing  orders  in  a  rather  peremptory  tone  to  his  diminutive 
lieutenant. 

"  Do  you  know  this  little  boy  \ "  I  asked. 

"  Jack  de  Kobber  "  gave  me  a  look  which  was  not  reassur- 
ing. "  Does  I  naw  him  \  Of  corse  I  naws  him.  What 
de !" 

"  Why  don't  you  send  him  home  to  his  mother ;  he's  neither 
big  enough  nor  strong  enough  to  sell  papers  \ " 

At  this  Jack  gave  utterance  to  an  oath  too  utterly  original 
for  reproduction;  then  he  said,  "Dat  ere  kid  ain't  got  no 
mammy;  I  looks  after  dat  kid  meself." 

I  slipped  a  coin  into  Jack's  hand  and  urged  him  to  tell  me 
the  whole  story.  He  dropped  his  heap  of  papers,  tested  the 
coin  with  his  teeth,  slid  it  into  his  pocket,  and  began:  — 

"  Blokes  is  alius  axin'  'bout  dat  ere  kid,  but  you  is  de  fust 
one  wmat  ever  raised  de  ante.  Dat  ere  kid  don't  naw  no  more 
'bout  his  mammy'n  me.  Cause  why  \  Cause  he  ain't  never 
had  no  mammy." 

Here  Jack  paused,  as  if  determined  to  go  no  further,  but 
another  coin  gave  wings  to  his  words. 


136 


DIFFICULT   CASES   TO   REACH. 


"  Dat  ere  kid,"  he  resumed,  "  ain't  got  no  more  sand'n  a 
John  Chinee.  He'd  be  kilt  ony  fur  me.  He  can't  come  along 
de  Kow  or  up  de  alley  widout  gitin'  his  face  broke.  So  I  gives 
him  papers  to  sell  and  looks  arter  him  meself." 

I  asked  Jack  where  the  "  Kid  "  and  himself  slept.  "  I  ain't 
givin'  dat  away,"  said  he,  "  ony  taint  no  lodgin'-house  where 
you  has  to  git  up  early  in  the  mawnin'.  De  '  Kid'  and  me 
likes  to  sleep  late." 


I  u 


,  j; 

i  ]!'; 

1 1 

II' 

J!  1 

1 

i     \ 

'1 

$ 

!  HJ^. 

||y 

w 

=*s=J£z.    OLD  WOMEN   WAITING  AT  THE  DINING- 
^^-^-^         ROOM   DOOR  FOR  SCRAPS  FROM  THE 
NEWSBOYS'    TABLE. 


The  "  Kid,"  however,  was  now  eager  to  be  off  with  his 
papers,  and  without  another  word  the  protector  and  protege 
sped  into  the  street,  filling  the  air  with  their  shrill  cries. 

This  is  one  case  of  a  class  which  the  lodging-houses  do  not 
reach,  and  other  instances  might  be  given.  One  little  fellow 
of  six  years  makes  a  practice  of  frequenting  the  lobby  of 
one  of  the  big  hotels  after  dark.  As  soon  as  the  streets  become 
deserted,  and  the  market  for  his  papers  ceases  to  flourish,  he 


A   SMALL   SPECIMEN   OF    HIM  A  MTV.  ]:',] 

pushes  open  the  heavy  swinging  doors  of  the  hotel  and  pro- 
ceeds to  cuddle  his  cold  little  body  close  to  one  of  the  heat 
No  employe  has  ever  shown  any  disposition  to  dispossess  the 
tiny  newsboy.  His  shrill  voice  re-echoes  through  the  stately 
recesses  of  trie  hall  whenever  he  thinks  he  sees  a  possible  cus- 
tomer, but  although  on  more  than  one  occasion  irate  officials 
have  come  rushing  forth  to  exterminate  the  offender,  one  and 
all  have  paused  dismayed  before  the  absurd  proportions  and 
wonderful  self-possession  of  the  little  waif. 

The  -brawny  porter  took  the  boy  in  hand  one  night  and  said 
with  forced  gruff ness  : 

"  Look  here,  young  feller,  what  do  you  come  in  here  fur  :  " 

"  I  dunno,"  said  the  morsel. 

"  Where  do  you  live  \n 

"  I  dunno." 

The  boy,  however,  finally  admitted  that  he  had  a  home,  but 
obstinately  refused  to  say  where  it  was.  AVhen  he  left  the 
hotel  he  was  followed.  He  was  a  most  lonely  little  specimen 
of  humanity.  He  spoke  to  no  other  boys  and  was  accosted  by 
none.  In  the  end  he  went  to  sleep  in  one  of  the  dark  corners 
of  a  newspaper  counting-room. 

Instances  of  this  class  of  newsboys  could  be  multiplied 
indefinitely.  These  are  the  absolute  Bohemians  of  their  kind, 
who  prefer  a  doorway  to  a  warm  bed,  and  the  sights  of  the 
streets  any  time  and  all  the  time  to  the  simple  restraints  im- 
posed by  the  lodging-houses. 

The  newsboy's  life  is  filled  with  the  hardest  sort  of  work. 
His  gains  are  not  always  in  proportion,  for  he  must  begin  often 
before  light,  huddling  over  the  steam  gratings  at  the  print- 
ing-offices, and  waiting  for  his  share  of  the  morning  papers. 
He  scurries  to  work  these  off  before  the  hour  for  taking  the 
evening  editions,  and  sometimes  cannot  with  his  utmost  dili- 
gence take  in  more  than  fifty  cents  a  day,  though  it  ranges 
from  this  to  a  dollar  and  a  quarter.  The  period  of  elections  is 
the  harvest-time.  A  boy  has  been  known  to  sell  six  hundred 
papers  in  two  hours,  at  a  profit  of  between  eleven  and  twelve 
dollars. 


138 


AN   IMPORTANT   WORK. 


Among  over  twenty-one  thousand  children  who  in  the  early 
years  of  the  work  were  sent  West,  but  twelve  became  crimi- 
nals, and  not  more  than  six  annually  return  to  New  York.  No 
work  done  for  children  compares  with  this  in  importance,  and 
whoever  studies  the  record  of  the  Children's  Aid  Society  will 


IN     THE     CRIPPLED     BOYS 
BRUSH   SHOP. 


be  amazed  at  the 
good  already  accom- 
plished. Twenty -one  industrial  schools,  twelve  night-schools, 
two  free  reading-rooms,  six  lodging-houses  for  girls  and  boys, 
four  summer  homes,  and  the  Crippled  Boys'  Brush  Shop,  are 
the  record  plain  to  all ;  but  who  shall  count  the  good  that  no 
man  has  recorded,  but  which  has  rescued  thousands  from  the 
streets  and  given  them  the  chance  which  is  the  right  of  every 
human  soul. 


CHAPTER   Y. 

THE    ONE   HUNDRED    THOUSAND    LITTLE   LABORERS   OF    NEW 
YORK  — CHILD  WORKERS  — THEIR  HOMES  AND  DAILY  LIFE. 

One  Hundred  Thousand  Little  Workers  — Little  Mothers  — Early  Lessons 
in  Drinking  — A  Sup  of  the  "Craytur"  — A  Six-Year-Old  Nurse  — A 
"Widdy  Washerwoman "  — "  See  How  Beautiful  He  Sucks  at  the 
Pork"  — Heavy  Burdens  on  Small  Shoulders  — What  a  Child  of  Eight 
Can  Do  — Feather  Strippers  — Paper  Collar  Makers  — Tobacco  Strippers 
—  Youth  and  Old  Age  Side  by  Side  — Cigar-Makers  — Deadly  Trades- 
Working  in  Cellars—  "  Them  Stairs  is  Killin'  "  —  What  Jinny  and  Mame 
Did  — Pinched  with  Hunger— "She  Could  Sew  on  Buttons  when  She 
Wasn't  Much  Over  Four"  — A  Tiny  Worker  of  Five  —  "  Stitch,  Stitch, 
Stitch,  in  Poverty,  Hunger,  and  Dirt"— Scenes  in  Working  Children's 
Homes  —  "She's  Sewed  on  Millions  of  Buttons,  that  Child  Has"  —  "A 
Hot  Place  Waitin'  for  Him "  —  Preternaturally  Aged  Faces  — An  Ap- 
peal for  Justice. 

WHOEVER  reads  that  in  the  State  of  Xew  York  some 
twenty-four  thousand  children  are  employed  in  factories, 
but  that  the  law  forbids  the  admission  of  any  under  thirteen 
years  of  age,  settles  back  comfortably  certain  that  witli  few 
exceptions  all  waifs  and  strays  are  provided  for,  and  that  at 
thirteen  a  child  is  not  likely  to  be  stunted  or  overworked.  If 
parents  told  the  truth  as  to  age,  and  if  there  were  fifty  instead 
of  the  two  inspectors  who  must  cover  the  ground  for  the  whole 
State,  there  would  be  some  chance  for  carrying  out  the  law. 
But  it  is  hardly  more  than  a  form  of  words,  evaded  daily  by 
parents,  who  want  the  earnings  of  the  child.  —  the  children 
themselves  aiding  them  in  the  deception.  The  Census  returns 
touch  only  children  in  factories.  They  do  not  include  either 
mercantile  establishments  or  trades  carried  on  in  tenement- 
houses. 

Figures  drawn  from  the  registers  of  night-schools  and  from 
many  other  sources  make  the  number  of  little  workers  in  Xew 

9  (139) 


140  INDUSTRIES  FOR  LITTLE  WORKERS. 

York  city  over  one  hundred  thousand.  In  one  night-school  for 
boys  two  hundred  of  them  were  employed  in  industries  outside 
of  factories.  The  registers  of  these  schools  are  full  of  sugges- 
tion, and  in  running  over  them  one  finds  over  two  hundred  em- 
ployments in  which  children  are  engaged.  Ink  in  all  its  pro- 
cesses, tassel-making,  tin  and  paper  boxes,  whips,  whalebones, 
feathers,  artificial  flowers,  and  tobacco  are  samples.  The  boys 
like  to  enlarge  their  profession  and  write  themselves  down  as 
blacksmiths,  architects,  and  in  one  case,  "  sexton's  assistant." 
The  last  dusted  pews  and  helped  to  shake  cushions,  while  the 
young  blacksmiths  and  architects  were  simply  errand  and  gen- 
eral utility  boys. 

Girls  share  the  same  ambition  that  the  boys  feel,  and  in  one 
school  eighty  of  them  registered  as  "nurses."  Being  inter- 
preted this  means  that  they  take  ca,re  of  the  baby  at  home 
while  the  mother  goes  out  to  "  day's  work."  It  is  astonishing 
to  see  the  real  motherliness  of  the  little  things,  who  lug  about 
the  baby  with  devotion;  and  if  they  feed  it  on  strange  diet 
they  are  but  following  in  the  footsteps  of  the  mothers,  who  re- 
gard the  baby  at  six  months  old  as  the  sharer  of  whatever  the 
family  bill  of  fare  has  to  offer.  The  small  German  child  is 
early  taught  to  take  his  portion  of  lager  with  national  placidity ; 
the  Irish  children  have  tea  or  coffee  and  even  a  sup  of  the 
"  craytur,"  and  so  each  nationality  is  instructed  according  to 
the  taste  that  is  part  of  its  inheritance.  I  have  seen  a  six-year- 
old  girl  scrubbing  the  floor  of  the  one  room  in  which  lived  a 
widowed  mother  and  three  children. 

"  She's  a  widdy  washerwoman,"  said  the  dot,  a  creature 
with  big  blue  eyes  and  a  thin  eager  little  face.  "  Yes,  ma'am, 
she's  a  widdy  washerwoman,  an'  I  keep  house.  That's  the 
baby  there,  an'  he's  good  all  the  time,  savin'  whin  his  teeth  is 
too  big  for  him.  It's  teeth  that's  hard  on  babies,  but  I  mind 
him  good  an'  he  thinks  more  o'  me  than  he  does  of  mother. 
See  how  beautiful  he  sucks  at  the  pork." 

The  small  housekeeper  pointed  with  pride  to  the  bed,  where 
the  tiny  baby  lay,  a  strip  of  fat  pork  in  his  mouth. 

"  He's  weakly  like,  an'  mother  gives  him  the  pork  to  set 


WORKSHOPS   FOR  CHILDREN.  141 

him  up.  An'  he  takes  his  sup  o'  tay  beautiful  too.  Whin  the 
summer  comes  we'll  get  to  have  him  go  to  the  Children's  Eome 
at  Bath,  maybe,  or  down  to  Coney  Island  or  somewhere,  I 
might  be  a  ' Fresh  Air'  child  meself,  but  I  have  to  keep  house 
you  know,  an'  so  mother  can't  let  me  go." 

This  is  one  phase  of  child-labor,  and  the  most  natural  and 
innocent  one,  though  it  is  a  heavy  burden  to  lay  on  small 
shoulders,  and  premature  age  and  debility  are  its  inevitable  re- 
sults. Far  truer  is  this  of  the  long  hours  in  shop  or  manufac- 
tory. A  child  of  eight  —  one  of  a  dozen  in  a  shop  on  Walker 
Street  —  stripped  feathers,  and  had  for  a  year  earned  three  dol- 
lars a  week.  In  this  case  the  father  was  dead  and  the  mother 
sick,  and  the  little  thing  went  home  to  do  such  cooking  as  she 
could,  though  like  many  a  worker  she  had  already  learned  to 
take  strong  tea  and  to  believe  that  it  gave  her  strength.  She 
was  dwarfed  in  growth  from  confinement  in  the  air  of  the 
workshop,  from  lack  of  proper  food  and  no  play,  and  thousands 
of  these  little  feather-strippers  are  in  like  case. 

In  another  workshop  in  the  same  neighborhood,  children  of 
from  eight  to  ten,  and  one  much  younger,  cut  the  feathers  from 
cock-tails.  The  hours  were  from  eight  to  six,  and  so  for  ten 
hours  daily  they  bent  over  the  work,  which  included  cutting 
from  the  stem,  steaming,  curling,  and  packing. 

Eight  thousand  children  make  envelopes  at  three  and  a  half 
cents  a  thousand.  They  gum,  separate,  and  sort.  The  hours 
are  the  same,  but  the  rooms  are  generally  lighter  and  better 
ventilated  than  the  feather  workers'  surroundings.  Many  more 
burnish  china,  for,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  most  delicate 
ware  is  entrusted  to  children  of  ten  or  twelve.  The  burnishing- 
instrument  is  held  close  against  the  breast,  and  this  is  a  fruitful 
source  of  sickness,  since  the  constant  pressure  brings  with  it 
various  stomach  and  other  troubles,  dyspepsia  being  the  chief. 

Paper  collars  employ  a  host.  The  youngest  bend  over 
them,  for  even  a  child  of  five  can  do  this.  One  child  of  twelve 
counts  and  boxes  twenty  thousand  a  day,  and  one  who  pastes 
the  lining  on  the  button-holes  does  five  thousand  a  day.  Over 
ten  thousand  children  make  paper  boxes.     Even  in  the  making 


142 


DANGEROUS  AND  DEADLY  TRADES. 


of  gold-leaf  a  good  many  are  employed,  though  chiefly  young 
girls  of  fifteen  and  upwards.  It  is  one  of  the  most  exhausting 
of  the  trades,  as  no  air  can  be  admitted,  and  the  atmosphere  is 
stifling. 

Feathers,  flowers,  and  tobacco  employ  the  greatest  number. 
A  child  of  six  can  strip  tobacco  or  cut  feathers.  In  one  great 
firm,  employing  over  a  thousand  men,  women,  and  children,  a 


TIRED  OUT.  —  A  FACTORY  GIRLS  ROOM  IN  A  TENEMENT-HOUSE. 

woman  of  eighty  and  her  grandchild  of  four  sit  side  by  side 
and  strip  the  leaves,  and  the  faces  of  the  pair  were  sketched 
not  long  since  by  a  popular  artist.  "With  the  exception  of 
match-making  and  one  or  two  other  industries  there  is  hardly 
a  trade  so  deadly  in  its  effects.  There  are  many  operations 
which  children  are  competent  to  carry  on,  and  the  phases  of 
work  done  at  home  in  the  tenement-houses  often  employ  the 
entire  family.  In  cellars  and  basements  boys  of  ten  and  twelve 
brine,  sweeten,  and  prepare  the  tobacco  preliminary  to  stem- 


STARTLING  STATEMENTS.  143 

ming.  Others  of  the  same  age  keep  the  knives  of  the  cutting 
machines  clean  by  means  of  sponges  dipped  in  rum,  thus  spend- 
ing their  young-  lives  in  an  atmosphere  of  liquor  and  tobacco. 
Cigar-making  in  the  tenement-houses  goes  on,  though  the  tact 
is  often  denied. 

In  a  report  of  the  State  Bureau  of  Labor  it  is  stated  that  in 
one  room  less  than  twelve  by  fourteen  feet,  whose  duplicate 
can  be  found  at  many  points,  a  family  of  seven  worked. 
Three  of  these,  all  girls,  were  under  ten  years  of  age.  To- 
bacco lay  in  piles  on  the  floor  and  under  the  long  table  at 
one  end  where  cigars  were  rolled.  Two  of  the  children  sat  on 
the  floor,  stripping  the  leaves,  and  another  sat  on  a  small  stool. 
A  girl  of  twenty  sat  near  them,  and  all  had  sores  on  lips, 
cheeks,  and  hands.  Some  four  thousand  women  are  en^a^ed 
in  this  industry,  and  an  equal  number  of  unregistered  young 
children  share  it  with  them.  As  in  sewing,  a  number  of 
women  often  club  together  and  use  one  room,  and  in  such 
cases  their  babies  crawl  about  in  the  filth  on  the  wet  floors, 
playing  with  the  damp  tobacco  and  breathing  the  poison  with 
which  the  room  is  saturated. 

Skin  diseases  of  many  sorts  develop  in  the  children  who 
work  in  this  way,  and  for  the  women  and  girls  nervous  and 
hysterical  complaints  are  common,  the  direct  result  of  poison- 
ing by  nicotine.  In  this  one  house  alone  thirty  children  were 
at  work,  thirteen  of  them  strippers,  doing  their  ten  hours 
of  work  daily. 

Twine-factories  are  clean  and  well  ventilated,  but  they  are 
often  as  disastrous  in  their  effects.  The  twisting-room  is  filled 
with  long  spindles,  innocent-looking  enough,  but  taking  a 
finger  along  with  the  flax  as  silently  and  suddenly  as  the 
thread  forms.  In  one  factory  two  hundred  children  under 
fifteen  years  old  are  employed  spinning,  winding,  and  twisting 
11a x.  In  one  room  ten  little  boys  so  small  that  they  were 
mounted  on  a  platform  to  enable  them  to  reach  the  clamps 
that  hold  the  flax,  run  the  hackling-machines,  and  change 
the  clamps  as  necessary.  The  machine  must  be  fed  continu- 
ously at  both  ends,  and  the  boys  work  with  an  energy  and 


144 

steadiness  that  to  the  casual  observer  seems  as  if  they  were 
trying  to  show  off.  They  are  driven  by  the  machine,  and  the 
overseer  laughed  as  he  said, 

"  Yes,  there  isn't  much  let  up  for  'em.  They  have  to  run 
pretty  lively,  else  they  get  into  trouble." 

In  the  twisting-room  several  children  lacked  a  finger  or 
two,  and  one  explained  how  it  happened  in  her  case. 

"  You  see  you  mustn't  talk  or  look  off  a  minute.  They  just 
march  right  along.  My  sister  was  like  me.  She  forgot  and 
talked,  and  just  that  minute  her  finger  was  off,  and  she  didn't 
even  cry  till  she  picked  it  up.  My  little  finger  always  did 
stick  out,  and  I  was  trying  to  twist  fast  like  the  girl  next  to 
me,  and  somehow  it  caught  in  the  flax.  I  tried  to  jerk  away, 
but  it  wasn't  any  use.  It  was  off  just  the  same  as  hers,  and  it 
took  a  great  while  before  I  could  come  back.  I'm  sort  of 
afraid  of  them,  for  any  minute  your  Avhole  hand  might  go  and 
you'd  hardly  know  till  it  was  done." 

In  a  small  room  on  Hester  Street  a  woman  at  work  on 
overalls  —  for  the  making  of  which  she  received  one  dollar  a 
dozen  —  said  :  — 

"I  couldn't  do  as  well  if  it  wasn't  for  Jinny  and  Mame 
there.  Maine  has  learned  to  sew  on  buttons  first-rate,  and 
Jinny  is  doing  almost  as  well.  I'm  alone  to-day,  but  most 
days  three  of  us  sew  together  here,  and  Jinny  keeps  right 
along.     We'll  do  better  yet  when  Mame  gets  a  bit  older." 

As  she  spoke  the  door  opened  and  a  woman  with  an  enor- 
mous bundle  of  overalls  entered  and  sat  down  on  the  nearest 
chair  with  a  gasp. 

"Them  stairs  is  killin',"  she  said.  "It's  lucky  I've  not 
to  climb  'em  often." 

Something  crept  forward  as  the  bundle  slid  to  the  floor, 
and  busied  itself  with  the  string  that  bound  it. 

"Here  you,  Jinny,"  said  the  woman,  "don't  you  be  foolin'. 
What  do  you  want  anyhow  ? " 

The  something  shook  back  a  mat  of  thick  hair  and  rose  to 
its  feet,  —  a  tiny  child  who  in  size  seemed  scarcely  three,  but 
whose  countenance  indicated  the  experience  of  three  hundred. 


THE   LITTLE  BUTTON   BSWEBS.  146 

"It's  the  string  I  want,"  the  small  voice  said.  "Me  and 
Maine  was  goin'  to  play  with  it." 

"There's  small  time  for  play,"  said  the  mother;  "there'll 

be  two  pair  more  in  a  minute  or  two.  an'  you  are  to  see  how 
Mame  does  one  an'  do  it  good,  too.  or  I'll  find  out  why  not." 

Mame  had  come  forward  and  stood  holding  to  the  one  thin 
garment  which  but  partly  covered  Jinny's  little  bones.  She, 
too,  looked  out  from  a  wild  thatch  of  black  hair,  and  with  the 
same  expression  of  deep  experience,  the  pallid,  hungry  little 
faces  lighting  suddenly  as  some  cheap  cakes  were  produced. 
Both  of  them  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  ate  their  portion 
silently. 

"  Maine's  seven,  and  Jinny's  goin'  on  six,"  said  the  mother. 
"  but  Jinny's  the  smartest.  She  could  sew  on  buttons  when 
she  wasn't  much  over  four.  I  had  five,  but  the  Lord  took  *em 
all  but  these  two.     I  couldn't  get  on  if  it  wasn't  for  Mame.'9 

Mame  looked  up.  but  said  no  word,  and,  as  I  left  the  room, 
settled  herself  with  her  back  against  the  wall.  Jinny  at  her  side, 
la vin^  the  coveted  string  near  at  hand  for  use  if  any  minute 
for  play  arrived.  In  the  next  room,  half-lighted  like  the  last, 
and  if  possible  even  dirtier,  a  Jewish  tailor  sat  at  work  on  a 
coat,  and  by  him  on  the  floor  a  child  of  five  picking  threads 
from  another  coat. 

"  Xcttie  is  good  help."  he  said  after  a  word  or  two.  "  So 
fast  as  I  finish,  she  picks  all  the  threads.  She  care  not  to  go 
away  —  she  stay  by  me  always  to  help." 

"  Is  she  the  only  one  I" 

u  But  one  that  sells  papers.  Last  year  is  five,  but  mother 
and  dree  are  gone  with  fever.  It  is  many  that  die.  ^Vhat  will 
you  !     It  is  the  will  of  God.'' 

On  the  floor  below  two  children  of  seven  and  eight  were 
found  also  sewing  on  buttons — in  this  case  for  four  women 
who  had  their  machines  in  one  room  and  were  making  the 
cheapest  order  of  corset-cover,  for  which  they  received  fifty 
cents  a  dozen,  each  one  having  five  buttons.  It  could  not 
called  oppressive  work,  yet  the  children  were  held  there  to  be 
ready  for  each  one  as  com]  I  -ted.  and  sat  as  such  children  most 


146         LITTLE   MATCH   PEDDLERS   AND   COAL  SHOVELERS. 


"It's  hard  on  'em,"  one  of  the  women  said. 


often  do,  silent  and  half  asleep,  waiting  patiently  for  the  next 
demand. 

"  We  work  till 
ten  and  some- 
times later, 
but  then  they 
sleep  between 
and  we  can't ; 
and  they  get 
the  change 
of  running 
out  for  a  loaf 
of  bread  or 
whatever's 
wanted,  and 
we  don't  stir 
from  the  ma- 
chine from 
morning  till 
night.  I've 
got  two  o'  me 
own,  but  they're  out  peddlin'  matches." 

Descending  the  stairs  to  reach  the  rear  of  the  building,  our 
way  led  past  three  little  girls  shoveling  coals  into  bags. 

On  the  lower  floor  back  of  the  small  grocery  in  which  the 
people  of  the  house  bought  their  food  supply — wilted  or  half- 
decayed  vegetables,  meat  of  the  cheapest  order,  broken  eggs, 
and  stale  fish, — a  tailor  and  two  helpers  were  at  work.  A  girl 
of  nine  or  ten  sat  among  them  and  picked  thread  or  sewed  on 
buttons  as  needed — a  haggard,  wretched-looking  child  who  did 
not  look  up  as  the  door  opened.  A  woman  who  had  come 
down  the  stairs  stopped  a  moment,  and  as  I  passed  out  said :  — 
"  If  there  was  a  law  for  him  I'd  have  him  up.  It's  his  own 
sister's  child,  and  he's  workin'  her  ten  hours  a  day  an'  many  a 
day  into  the  night,  an'  she  with  an  open  sore  on  her  neck,  an' 
cryin'  out  many's  the  time  when  she  draws  out  a  long  needle- 
ful an'  so  gives  it  a  jerk.     She's  sewed  on  millions  of  buttons, 


•&] 


THE    LITTLE    COAL    SHOVELERS. 


A    PHYSU  [AN  S    I  ESI  [MONY. 


147 


that  child  has.  an'  she  bnt  a  little  past  ten.    May  there  be  a  hot 

place  waitin"  for  him !" 

Prom  the  notes  of  a  physician  whose  name  is  a  guarantee 

of  accurate  and   faithful   observation,  and   whose  work  is  in 

connection  with  the  Board  of  Health.  I  ha 

the  result  of  eighteen  months'  work.     During  this  period  of 

daily  observation  in  tenement-house  work,  she  found  among 
the  people  with  whom  she  came  in  contact  535  children  under 
twelve  years  old.  most  of  them  between  ten  and  twelve,  who 
either  worked  in  shops  or  helped  their  mothers  in 


MAKING    ART 

ERS   AT   TWELVE 
A    GROSS. 


s-  ime 


home.  Of  these  535  chil- 
dren but  f>(">  were  healthy. 
In  one  family  a  child  of  three  years  old  had  infantile  paralysis 
easily  curable.  The  mother  had  no  time  to  attend  to  it.  At 
five  years  old  the  child  was  taught  to  sew  buttons  on  trousers. 
She  is  now.  at  thirteen  years,  a  helpless  cripple,  but  she  fin- 
ishes a  dozen  pairs  of  trousers  a  day,  and  the  family  are  thus 
twenty  cents  the  richer.  In  another  family  she  found  twin 
girls  four  and  a  half  years  old.  sewing  on  buttons  from  six 
in  the  morning  till  ten  at  night ;  and  near  them  a  family  of 


148  EFFECT   OF  FACTORY  LIFE   ON  CHILDREN. 

three, —  a  woman  who  did  the  same  work,  and  whose  old  father 
of  eighty  and  a  little  girl  of  six  were  her  co-workers. 

Does  the  Compulsory  Education  Law  help  these?  It  re- 
quires only  fourteen  weeks  of  the  year,  and  the  poorer  class 
work  from  early  morning  till  eight  a.  m.,  and  after  school 
hours  from  four  till  late  at  night.  What  energy  for  study  is 
left  under  such  conditions?  The  chief  harm  is  not  here, 
though  this  is  harm  enough.  It  is  in  the  inevitable  physical 
degeneration  of  the  child.  Thoughtful  owners  and  managers 
here  and  there  realize  this,  and  many  have  testified  that  a 
child  put  out  into  factory  life  at  eight  or  nine  years  of  age 
becomes  practically  useless  by  the  time  twenty  is  reached. 
Physical,  mental,  and  moral  development  are  not  only  wanting 
but  rendered  impossible. 

This  is  no  place  for  the  many  questions  involved,  but 
every  woman  who  reads,  every  man  whose  children  look  to 
him  for  teaching,  may  well  ponder  the  issues  involved.  A 
world  of  thought  and  action  is  already  given  to  the  rescue  of 
children  from  the  slums.  Let  it  reach  one  step  farther  and 
rescue  them  with  no  less  eagerness  and  determination  from  the 
factory.  If  present  methods  of  production  cannot  go  on  with- 
out them,  alter  the  methods.  The  loss  on  one  side  will  be 
more  than  balanced  by  a  lessening  rate  in  our  asylums,  and  a 
gradual  lowering  of  the  tax  for  their  support,  paid  now  with 
a  cheerfulness  which  may  well  be  transferred  to  another  form 
of  loss,  —  loss  to-day,  perhaps,  but  gain  for  all  days  to  come. 
We  expend  money  for  foreign  missions  while  the  heathen  are 
here  at  our  own  doors.  Out  from  the  child  faces,  preternatur- 
ally  aged,  brutalized,  and  defrauded  of  all  that  belongs  to  child- 
hood, look  eyes  that  hold  unconscious  appeal  for  that  justice 
which  is  the  birthright  of  every  soul  born  to  the  Kepublic.  Ig- 
nore it,  deny  it,  and  the  time  comes  when  the  old  words 
sound  again,  and  we  hear  the  judgment :  "  Whosoever  shall 
offend  one  of  these  little  ones  that  believe  in  me,  it  were  better 
for  him  that  a  millstone  were  hanged  about  his  neck  and  he 
were  cast  into  the  sea." 


CIIAPTEK  VI. 

CHILD-LIFE  IN  THE  SLUMS  — HOMELESS  STREET  BOYS,  GUTTER- 
SNIPES AND  DOCK  RATS  — THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  DAY- 
BREAK BOY. 

Gutter-Snipes  —  Imps  of  Darkness  —  Snoopers  —  Rags  and  Tatters  —  Life  in 
the  Gutter  —  Old  Sol  —  Running  a  Grocery  under  Difficulties  —  Youthful 
Criminals  —  Newsboys  and  Bootblacks  —  Candidates  for  Crime  —  "He's 
Smart,  He  Is"  —  "It's  Business  Folks  as  Cheats"  —  Dock  Rats  —  Unre- 
claimed Children  —  Thieves'  Lodging-Houses — Poverty  Lane  —  Hell's 
Kitchen  —  Dangers  of  a  Street  Girl's  Life  —  Old  Margaret  —  The  Reforma- 
tion of  Wildfire  —  The  Queen  of  Cherry  Street  —  Sleeping  on  the  Docks  — 
Too  Much  Lickin'  and  More  in  Prospect  —  A  Street  Arab's  Summer  Resi- 
dence—  A  Walking  Rag-Bundle  —  Getting  Larruped  —  A  Daybreak  Boy 
—  Jack's  Story  of  his  Life  —  Buckshot  Taylor  —  A  Thieves'  Run-way  — 
Escaping  over  Roofs  —  A  Police  Raid  —  Head-first  off  the  Roof  —  Death  of 
Jack  —  His  Dying  Request — An  Affecting  Scene  —  Fifteen  Thousand 
Homeless  Children. 

''^UTTER-SNIPES!  That's  what  I  call  'em.  What  else 
VJ  could  they  be  when  they're  in  the  gutter  all  day  and 
half  the  night,  cuttin'  round  like  little  imps  o'  darkness.  Not 
much  hair  on  'em  either  —  not  enough  to  catch  by,  and  clothes 
as  is  mostly  rags  that  tears  if  you  grab  'em.  The  prison  barber 
wouldn't  get  any  profit  out  of  'em,  I  can  tell  you.  Men  around 
here  don't  shave  till  their  beards  stick  out  like  spikes,  and  the 
women  cut  the  children's  hair  to  save  combin'.  Gutter-snipes. 
That's  it,  and  they  snoop  around  stores  and  slink  off  a  salt  fish 
or  a  bundle  of  wood  or  anything  as  comes  handy,  and  home 
with  it  like  the  wind.  Mother  is  there,  you  may  be  sure,  and 
washin'  may  be.  Do  you  suppose  she  asks  any  questions  like, 
'  Lor,  Billy,  where  did  you  get  that  ? '  Not  she.  She  takes  the 
fish,  or  whatever  it  is,  as  innocent  as  a  lamb  and  sends  Billy  for 
some  bits  o'  coal  to  cook  it. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  way  it  is  down  here.     Eags  and  tatters  are 

(149) 


150  OLD   SOL  AND   HIS  TROUBLES. 

our  style,  and  we  wouldn't  feel  nat'ral  if  we  had  to  try  any 
other  way.  Parints'  fortin's  don't  give  gutter-snipes  anythin' 
very  stylish.  Walk  round  here  most  anywheres  and  you'll  see 
it's  so, —  yes  and  more  so.  What's  to  come  of  'em  I  don't  know. 
The  Island  pretty  soon,  I  suppose.  That's  the  way  the  city 
looks  out  for  'em.  Good  a  way  as  any  may  be,  if  they've  got 
to  live  in  the  gutter  from  the  day  they  can  crawl  till  the  law 
thinks  they're  old  enough  to  get  a  grip  on.  Takes  a  gutter  to 
make  their  kind,  and  their  kind  to  make  the  gutter,  and  what 
'you  goin'  to  do  if  you're  bound  to  let  the  gutter  alone  ?  If  I 
was  the  Lord  I'd  send  a  high  wind  and  blow  the  whole  region 
to  kingdom  come,  or  else  the  tail  of  a  comet  to  switch  us  right 
out  o'  sight  before  you  could  say  Jack  Kobinson.  That's 
what'll  happen  some  day,  I'm  thinkin',  and  I'd  like  it  in  my 
time  too,  so's  to  know  there  wouldn't  be  any  more  breedin'- 
places  for  such  as  these." 

This  was  the  voice  of  old  Sol,  an  old  man  whose  little 
grocery  in  Monroe  Street  had  been  raided  so  often  that  it 
was  a  wonder  how  he  dared  leave  any  stock  outside.  He  kept 
a  long  stick,  slender  and  tough,  in  hiding  behind  his  counter, 
and  watched  the  groups  of  street  arabs  as  they  sauntered  by 
with  a  carelessness  he  knew  covered  deep  designs.  If  a  hand 
went  out  and  stole  a  potato,  a  bunch  of  turnips,  or  anything 
that  could  be  easily  caught  up  to  help  out  the  dinner  at  home, 
the  old  man  would  give  a  leap  as  agile  as  their  own,  and  the 
stick  would  play  about  legs  and  shoulders  of  any  or  all  of  the 
party,  who  ran  and  shouted  half  with  glee,  half  with  terror. 
Sometimes  he  recaptured  the  booty  and  went  back  nodding 
and  chuckling.  If  he  did  not  it  was  the  boy's  turn  to  chuckle. 
And  so  the  warfare  went  on  as  it  had  for  years,  and  will  go 
on  till  old  Sol  is  gathered  to  his  fathers  and  a  new  phase  of 
the  same  story  begins  for  his  successor. 

The  gutter  life  begins  with  the  baby  who  is  tugged  down 
the  long  stairs  by  brother  or  sister  and  given  the  freedom  of 
the  street.  It  is  wonderful  to  see  how  soon  the  little  things 
learn  their  bounds  and  keep  out  of  the  way  of  trucks  and 
horses.    Where  the  earth  is  soft,  they  dig  and  make  the  im- 


CHILDREN   OF   THE   SLIMS. 


151 


memorial  mud-pie,  or  they  play  with  such  pieces  of  string  or 
paper  as  may  have  been  deposited  there.  A  gay  bit  of  cloth, 
a  rejected  paper-box,  is  a  mine  of  enjoyment;  but  it  is  the 
other  children  and  a  consideration  of  their  ways  that  most 
fascinates  the  baby,  whose  eyes  still  hold  baby  innocence,  too 

soon  to  give  place  to  the 
>*M  look  that  even  the  three- 
year-old  often  wears.  The 
child  of  the  slums  fre- 
quently has   beauty,  but 


A  GROUP  OF  STREET  BOYS,  AS  FOUND  ON  DOYEB8  STREET. 


on  all  of  them  is  the  look  of  experience,  of  cunning,  or  a 
self-reliance  born  of  constant  knocking  about.  When  eight  or 
ten  years  old  such  care  as  may  occasionally  have  been  their 
portion  ceases.  They  must  begin  to  earn,  and  are  allowed  the 
utmost  freedom  of  choice. 

The  most  energetic  and  best  endowed  by  nature  turn  to 
the  newsboys'  calling  and  often  find  it  the  way  to  their  first 
fragments  of  education,  as  well  as  to  the  comfort  learned  in 
the  Newsboys'    Lodging-Houses.      Next   comes  bootblacking, 


152 


BOOTBLACKS  AND   THEIR  TRAITS. 


and  from  this  they  often  drift  into  thieving  as  a  profession. 
The  bootblack  has  many  idle  hours,  and,  as  surplus  energy 
must  be  worked  off,  he  gives  them  to  tossing  pennies,  gamb- 
ling in  easy  forms,  cheating,  and  fighting.  They  are  often 
practised  pickpockets,  and  in  brushing  a  customer's  coat  will 
steal  a  handkerchief  or  other  light  article  with  the  skill  of 
their  older  brethren  in  the  same  trade.  The  Italian  with  his 
chair  has  driven  many  to  find  some  other  calling,  but  a  rem- 
nant still  lingers  on  the  East  Side  or  here  and  there  on  the 
West, 


A   GROUP   OF   BOOTBLACKS. 


The  enforced  leisure  which  comes  to  bootblacks  after  the 
busy  time  of  the  morning  is  used  by  some  in  gymnastics,  and 
often  they  become  almost  as  expert  as  circus  performers. 
Now  and  then  they  improvise  a  performance  in  one  of  the 
parks  and  collect  pennies  from  the  spectators.  Two  of  them 
astonished  an  audience  at  a  picnic  by  a  series  of  feats  which 
they  announced  would  "beat  old  Barnum  holler."     They  col- 


YOUNG   STREET  ACROBATS.  153 

lected  forty  cents,  but  even  here,  as  partners,  one  cheated  and 

managed  to  get  twenty-live  cents  into  his  month,  from  which 
an  energetic  Sunday  School  teacher  forced  him  to  eject  it. 
The  clothes  of  both  of  them  had  to  be  pinned  up  before  they 
began   the  performance,   the   fluttering  rags  giving    way   in 

every  direction  with  each  twist  of  their  bodies.  Billy,  the 
younger,  smiled  admiringly  as  his  partner  spit  out  the  quarter 

and  dodged  from  the  expected  blow. 

"He's  smart,  he  is,"  he  said  with  a  chuckle.  "Me  on  the 
lookout  every  minute,  an'  I  never  seed  him  do  it." 

The  elder  smiled  with  a  superior  air  as  they  went  away  to- 
gether, no  whit  disconcerted  by  the  experience,  but  an  elder 
boy.  a  newsboy,  said  to  the  crowd  in  general,  — 

"He'd  ought'r  be  licked.  Partners  ain't  no  business  to 
cheat.     "We  don't,  never.     It's  business  folks  as  cheat." 

Anywhere  along  the  docks  are  facilities  for  petty  thieving, 
and,  guard  as  the  policeman  may,  the  swarms  of  small  street 
rovers  can  circumvent  them.  A  load  of  wood  left  on  the  dock 
diminishes  under  his  very  eyes.  The  sticks  are  passed  from 
one  to  another,  the  child  nearest  the  pile  being  busy  apparently 
in  playing  marbles.  If  any  move  of  suspicion  is  made  toward 
them,  they  are  off  like  a  swarm  of  cockroaches,  and  with  about 
as  much  sense  of  responsibility.  Children  of  this  order  hate 
school  with  an  inextinguishable  hatred.  They  smash  windows, 
pilfer  from  apple-stands,  build  fires  of  any  stray  bits  of  wood 
they  can  collect,  and  warm  themselves  by  them,  and,  after  a 
day  of  all  the  destruction  they  can  cram  into  it  has  ended, 
crawl  under  steps,  into  boxes  or  hallways,  and  sleep  till  roused 
by  the  policeman  on  his  beat,  or  by  a  bigger  boy  who  drives 
them  out.  Xo  Home  can  reach  them  all.  Xo  Lodging-House 
can  give  them  room.  Xumbers  are  taken  in,  and  in  time 
trained  into  some  sort  of  decent  living  or  sent  to  the  West. 
But  even  with  every  power  thus  far  brought  to  bear,  fifteen 
thousand  unreclaimed  children  rove  the  streets  to-day,  a  few 
of  them  peddlers  of  matches  or  small  notions,  but  the 
majority  living  by  their  wits.  Swill-gatherers  and  ragpickers 
employ  some  of  them,  but  the  occupation  is  hardly  better  than 


154 


CHILDREN  WHO  LIVE  BY   THEIR  WITS. 


roaming  at  large.  In  the  cheap  lodging-houses  older  pick- 
pockets and  burglars  train  numbers  for  their  own  work.  There 
are  gangs  of  many  orders,  —  "  copper  pickers,"  "  wood-stealers," 
young  garrotters  and  burglars,  who  for  years  made  the  neigh- 
borhood about  Hammersley  Street  and  Cottage  Place  as  much 
to  be  dreaded  as  the  Five  Points.  Poverty  Lane ;  "  Dutch 
Hill,"  the  home  of  ragpickers  and  swill-gatherers,  and  later 


A   SLEEPING   STREET   BOY. 


"Hell's  Kitchen"  and  many  another  nest  of  infamy,  are 
crowded  with  children  wild  as  hawks  and  as  fierce  and  untam- 
able. Thin,  eager,  hardened  faces  the  most  of  them,  with  now 
and  then  one  with  a  beauty  of  form  or  expression  that  no  de- 
basement has  the  power  to  kill.  Each  one  is  an  appeal  for 
rescue  before  the  work  of  ruin  is  completed  and  punishment 
steps  in  to  do  what  prevention  could  have  accomplished. 

The  homeless  boy  is  a  sufficiently  pitiful  object,  but  the  girl 
child  fares  even  worse.  The  boy  is  often  far  less  perverted 
than  he  seems.  His  sins  belong  to  his  ignorance  and  his  con- 
dition, and  drop  away  under  an  entire  change  of  environment. 
There  is  many  a  hard-working  farmer  in  the  West  who  began 


HOMELESS  AND   FRIENDLESS. 


WHAT   CHRISTIAN   TREATMENT   MAY   DO.  L57 

life  as  a  New  York  street  boy,  fighting  and  stealing,  his  hand 
against  every  man,  and  who  dates  hack  all  present  good  to  the 
day  when  an  agent  of  the  Children's  Aid  Society  coaxed  him 
into  one  of  their  Lodging- Houses. 

For  the  girl  there  is  less  chance  in  every  way.  She  develops 
in  mind  and  body  earlier  than  the  hoy,  and  runs  dangers  from 
which  he  is  free.  If  there  is  any  trace  of  beauty,  she  is 
watched  by  the  keepers  of  infamous  houses,  who  tell  her  what 
fortune  awaits  her  if  she  trusts  to  them.  Lodged  since  birth 
in  crowded  tenement-houses  or  in  cellars,  herded  with  dirty 
people  of  all  ages  and  both  sexes,  she  has  no  instinct  of  purity 
to  defend  her. 

Why  girls  should  be  less  susceptible  of  reformation  it  is 
hard  to  say,  save  that  the  special  sins  to  which  they  are  liable 
are  weakening  to  both  brain  and  body,  and  thus  moral  fibre  is 
lacking  in  greater  degree  than  with  the  boy.  For  both  alike  it 
is  prevention  that  is  demanded.  Possibilities  for  good  lie  be- 
neath the  most  apparently  hopeless  exterior,  and  decent  food, 
physical  training  and  development,  and  severe  yet  kindly  disci- 
pline, will  go  far  toward  calling  out  the  man.  Tradition  saddles 
the  girl  with  a  weight  from  the  beginning,  in  making  her  carry 
the  penalty  of  her  sins  as  no  man  is  ever  forced  to  do.  Her  past 
is  held  up  against  her  as  his  almost  never  is,  and  she  feels  herself 
handicapped  in  the  very  beginning  of  such  struggle  as  she  may 
make.  The  largest  charity,  the  wisest,  tenderest  dealing,  are 
necessary  for  this  class,  and  with  these  it  is  soon  shown  that 
the  difference  is  often  imaginary  rather  than  real,  and  that  for 
both  new  life  is  fully  possible. 

Now  and  then  a  woman,  herself  in  the  depths  of  poverty 
and  struggle,  comes  to  the  rescue  of  some  child.  Old  Marga- 
ret on  "Dutch  Hill"  was  one  of  these.  Owning  a  shanty,  in 
the  spot  where  she  had  squatted  on  some  rich  man's  land,  she 
lived  with  her  pigs  and  cats  and  goats  in  one  room,  trailing 
about  through  the  day  with  her  swill-cans  and  the  little  wagon 
drawn  by  two  dogs.  In  one  of  her  expeditions  she  saw  a  child 
hardly  five  years  old  sitting  on  a  pile  of  refuse  and  eating  a 

crust  picked  from  the  gutter.     Clear,  dark-blue  eyes  looked  out 
10 


158 


OLD  MARGARET  AND  "WILDFIRE. 


from  the  mat  of  tangled  hair,  and  when  the  crust  was  eaten 
the  child  broke  into  singing  a  foul  song  taught  by  some  boy, 
and  so  frightful  on  the  childish  lips  that  even  old  Margaret's 
soul  was  stirred. 

"  For  the  love  o'  God  !  "  she  cried.     "  Where  do  you  belong, 
an'  why  has  folks  left  you  here  on  an  ash-heap  ? " 

"  She  don't  belong  nowhere,"  a  boy  made 
answer.  "  She  sleeps  with  me  in  a  hay-barge, 
or  under  them  steps,  an' 
there  ain't  nobody  that 
knows  zac'ly  whose  she 
is." 

"  Then  she's  mine," 
said  old  Margaret.  "  You 
come  with  me,  me  pretty, 
an'  you  shall  play  with 
the  dogs  an'  have  all  the 
supper  you  want." 

The  child  danced  for- 
ward, taking  the  offer  in 
perfect  faith,  but  stopped 
short. 

"  I  belong  to  Dick,"  she  said.  "  What'll  Dick  do  ? " 
"  I  know  who  the  old  woman  is,"  said  Dick.  "  I'll  come  an' 
see  ye.  Go  with  her,"  —  and  with  a  whoop  Dick  disappeared. 
"What's  your  name?"  old  Margaret  asked.  "Wildfire," 
said  the  child,  and  no  after-questioning  brought  out  different 
answer  or  made  her  willing  to  own  to  any  other  title.  Wild- 
fire she  was,  and  she  soon  proved  her  right  to  the  name,  for  a 
more  passionate  little  sinner  never  bewildered  the  mind  of  man. 
But  old  Margaret  had  no  heart  to  beat  her,  as  is  the  manner  of 
her  kind.  She  cried  instead,  and  with  the  first  tear  the  spirit 
of  mischief  was  extinguished,  and  the  child  dissolved  in  tears 
herself.  She  clung  to  the  old  woman  with  passion.  No  hard- 
ship or  neglect  had  been  sufficient  to  kill  her  ardent  little  na- 
ture, and  she  loved  dog  and  cat. and  pig  and  petted  every  living 
thing  in  her  way.     She  mourned  for  Dick,  who  failed  to  ap- 


GUTTER   CHILDREN. 


A    LAWLESS    LITTLE    WAIF.  159 

pear,  and  who  was  lost  to  sight  for  weeks.  At  Last  on  a  rainy 
evening  he  walked  in  and  stood  sheepishly  while  Wildfire  Hew- 
to  his  neck  and  hugged  him  with  delight. 

"I've  been  hangin'  round  here,"  he  said,  "cos  I  wanted  to 
see  how  you'd  get  on.     Now  I  want  you  to  go  to  school." 

"The  thought  that's  been  on  me  own  mind,"  said  old  Mar- 
garet.    kk  But  where  ? " 

"  AVhere  but  the  East  Side  Industrial  School."  said  Dick 
proudly.     "  I'll  take  her  there  to-morrow  if  you  say  the  word." 

"I'll  take  her  meself ;  'twill  have  the  best  look,"  said  the 
old  woman,  and  the  next  morning  she  appeared  at  the  school 
and  soon  settled  that  her  charge  should  come  every  day. 

Probably  no  more  troublesome  pupil  ever  presented  her- 
self to  teachers,  well  experienced  in  all  forms  of  troublesome- 
ness ;  but  the  child's  affectionate  nature  was  always  her 
safety,  and  in  time  she  came  to  represent  some  of  the  best 
results  of  the  work  done  there.  She  remained  lawless  save 
for  this.  Wandering  blood  was  in  her,  and  she  grew  wild  if 
forced  to  remain  more  than  a  few  hours  within  doors.  But 
she  learned  to  sew  and  to  care  for  the  shanty,  which  under 
her  energetic  hands  grew  neat  and  decent.  She  tried  going 
out  to  service,  but  no  one  understood  her  needs  or  could 
tolerate  her  desires,  and  so  she  constantly  drifted  back  to 
those  who  had  first  befriended  her.  Dick  in  the  meantime  had 
from  newsboy  turned  to  boatman,  and,  having  begun  as  cabin- 
boy  on  a  coasting  vessel,  came  at  last  to  the  post  of  boy-of-all- 
work  on  a  canal  boat  which  lay  in  the  Erie  Basin  in  the 
winter,  and  so* afforded  him  opportunity  to  try  other  trades. 

The  shanty  finally  made  way  for  buildings.  The  dogs 
were  sold,  and  old  Margaret  turned  her  attention  to  ragpick- 
ing.  TTildfire,  grown  a  tall  girl,  with  the  same  dark-blue  hon- 
est eyes,  helped  her  sort  rags  when  they  were  not  too  dirty, 
and  took  in  washing  or  did  odd  jobs  as  her  share  of  the  work. 
till  one  day,  when  Dick  —  now  a  tall  fellow  of  twenty  — 
appeared  in  the  tenement-house  where  they  had  two  rooms,  and 
without  waste  of  time  told  both  that  he  had  been  promoted 
and  was  ready  to  marry. 


160 


A  ROMANCE  OF   THE   STREET. 


"  Shure  I'm  too  old,"  said  old  Margaret  with  a  twinkle. 
"  It  must  be  some  one  else  you're  meanin'." 

"  Right  you  are,"  said  Dick  calmly.  "  Tis  some  one  else, 
an'  there  she  stands.  It's  Wildfire  I  want,  an'  no  other,"  and 
Wildfire  rushed  to  him  as  she  had  done  long  ago,  and  cried  for 
joy  that  he  really  wanted  her. 

"  So  they  were  married  and  lived  happy  ever  after,"  is  thus 
far  true.  Dick  is  captain  of  a  canal  boat.  His  wife  finds  the 
life  sufficiently  full  of  excitement,  and  any  one  who  knows  the 
Erie  Basin  knows  what  resources  it  possesses,  and  will  be 
certain  that  occupation  will  never  be  wanting. 

There  is  hardly  one  of  the  little 
lives  that  have  no  other  home  than  the 
street  that  would  not  make  a  strange 


•***+~m 


A  GANG  OP  DOCK  RATS 
BASKING  IN  THE  SUN- 
SHINE. 


record  for  these  pages,  and  hardly  one  that  under  right  con- 
ditions does  not  show  itself  full  of  possibility. 

The  story  of  Jack  and  a  "Daybreak"  boy  known  as 
"Buster"  illustrates  a  loyalty  and  devotion  seldom  equaled 
in  any  walk  of  life.  It  was  a  beautiful  face  that  looked  up 
from  the  hospital  bed ;  a  face  that  any  mother  might  be  proud 
to  call  her  boy's,  —  gray  eyes,  large  and  full  of  expression, 
with  lashes  a  girl  would  envy,  clear-cut  features,  and  a  head 
full  of  promise.  Jack  belonged  in  Cherry  Street.  There  were 
many  reasons  why  he  found  it  the  best  spot.     That  he  was  un- 


A  GRADUATE   FROM   CHERRY    STREET.  1G1 

der-sized,  pale,  and  with  a  Look  of  sharp  experience  that  is  a  part 
of  the  street-boy's  make-up.  was  owing  to  many  things;  poor 
food  or  no  food  while  he  was  crowing,  cigarettes  and  beer  he- 
fore  he  was  eight  years  old.  and  generally  all  that  he  might 
better  never  have  known.  He  had  graduated  from  Cherry 
Street  a  year  or  two  before,  but  had  returned  there  on  a  quest 
the  nature  of  which  I  shall  give  in  his  own  words,  with 
such  translation  of  his  method  as  maybe  necessary,  for  Jack 
had  two  languages;  one  learned  in  night-school  at  the  News- 
boys' Lodging-Ilouse;  the  other  that  to  which  he  was  born  and 
into  which  he  fell  from  old  habit.  He  lay  flat  on  his  back,  his 
leg  in  splints,  and  his  side  bandaged ;  all  of  it  the  result  of  cer- 
tain experiences  to  be  recorded  here.  His  eyes  were  singularly 
honest,  and  he  smiled  like  a  baby  as  he  looked  confidently  into 
the  hospital  doctor's  face.  The  following  is  the  story  he  had 
to  tell. 

Jack's    Story. 

You  wouldn't  believe  it. —  that's  the  trouble.  I've  read 
dime  books  and  the  story  papers  ever  since  I  could  read  at  all, 
an'  there  was  never  a  thing  stranger  than  what  I  know  o' 
many  a  one  in  Poverty  Bay ;  yes,  an'  anywhere  you're  a 
mind  to  pick  out.  But  if  you  tell  it  folks  say,  "Oh,  he's 
drawin'  it  strong.  He's  seein'  what  he  can  make  you  swaller." 
Go  down  there  for  yerself,  an'  you'll  see  you  couldn't  make 
up  worse  than  there  is. 

You  see,  me  an'  the  Buster  was  both  kicked  out  into  the 
world  about  the  same  time.  He  wasn't  the  Buster  then,  but 
nothin'  but  the  smallest  boy  you  ever  did  see,  and  his  real  name 
was  Dick.  His  aunt  was  the  "  Queen  o'  Cherry  Street,"  an'  she 
could  drink  more  stuff  an'  not  show  it  than  any  ten  women 
that  went  with  her.  His  mother  was  killed  in  a  mistake  on 
the  other  side  o'  the  hall.  A  man  shot  her  that  thought  she 
was  another  woman,  an'  his  father  died  of  the  trimmins*  in  the 
station-house,  where  they'd  taken  him  after  pickiiv  him  up  for 
dead.     He  didn't  do  nothin'  but  drink  any  way,  an'  he  pawned 


*  Delirium  Tremens. 


162  JACK  TELLS  THE   STORY  OF  HIS  LIFE. 

whatever  there  was  to  lay  his  hands  on,  down  to  the  teapot. 
So  his  aunt  took  Dick,  an'  he  slep'  along  with  the  other  lodgers, 
an'  had  what  he  could  pick  up  to  eat  unless  she  happened  to 
think,  an'  then  she  let  him  buy  pie. 

That  was  Dick,  but  he  turned  into  the  Buster,  an'  that's  what 
I'll  call  him  now,  so  you'll  know.  My  father  was  a  ragpicker 
on  Baxter  Street,  an'  our  house  was  47;  do  you  know  it? 
When  you  go  in  there's  a  court  an'  a  hydrant  in  the  middle,  an 
out  o'  that  court  opens  seven  doors  as  like  as  seven  peas,  an 
there's  seven  rooms  with  the  window  alongside  o'  the  door,  an 
so  on  all  the  way  up  the  five  stories.  It's  all  Eyetalian  now 
an'  they've  got  big  Eyetalian  beds  that  hols  six  or  seven  easy 
an'  over  them  they  slings  hammocks  an'  piles  the  children  in 
an'  then  fills  up  the  floor,  an'  so  they  make  their  rent  an'  may 
be  more. 

We  wasn't  so  thick,  and  lucky,  for  my  father  wanted  room 
to  tear  round  when  he  stopped  pickin'  rags  an'  had  a  drunk. 
He'd  smash  everything  he  could  reach,  an'  my  mother,  who  was 
little  an'  kind  o'  delicate  like,  she'd  hang  everything  high,  so's 
he  couldn't  get  at  it.  He  knocked  her  round  awful,  an'  one 
night,  when  he  come  home  a  little  worse  than  any  one  ever 
seed  him,  he  just  kicked  us  both  downstairs  an'  broke  her  all  to 
smash,  ribs  an'  everything ;  an'  then  when  he'd  smashed  up  the 
room  too,  he  just  sat  clown  an'  cut  his  own  throat  awful,  so 
when  they  come  to  arrest  him  on  account  o'  my  mother  that 
they  had  picked  up  an'  sent  to  Bellevue,  there  wasn't  nothin'  to 
get  but  a  stiff.* 

I  hung  round  a  bit  till  I  saw  the  ambulance,  an'  then  I  made 
sure  they'd  do  somethin'  awful  with  me,  an'  I  cut.  I  made  a 
run  for  the  river,  because  I  alius  liked  it  along  the  docks.  You 
could  often  pick  up  oranges  an'  bananas,  an'  many  a  time  I've 
licked  molasses  off  the  barrels.  I'd  often  slep  before  in  barges 
an'  most  anywhere,  an'  so  I  knew  a  good  place  where  there  was 
most  always  some  bales  o'  hay,  an'  so  I  put  for  that.  There 
was  lots  o'  boxes  an'  barrels  piled  up,  an'  empty  ones  too ;  an' 


*  A  corpse. 


JACK    FALLS    IN    WITH    LITTLL    "  lU'STER. 


103 


way  behind  Vm,  where  they  hadn't  Looked  for  a  good  while, 

was  some  big  bales  o'  hay. 

It  was  rainin',  pelt  in'  straight  down,  an5  sleet  with  it,  an' 
awful  cold.  I  remember  because  Buster  cried  awful  when  I 
found  him.  He  wasn't  bigger'n  a  rat  much,  air  when  I  come 
pitchin'  along  he  made  certain  I  was  goin'  to  turn  him  out. 
There  he  was,  you  see,  in  my  box,  ^0ilM^m^&^^/:,. 
that  I  hadn't  never  let  on  about,  an' 
he  just  snivel- 
ed an'  turned 
out  an'  started 
to  run.  So  I 
took  him  by 
the  scruff  an'  I 
says,  "  Where 
you  goin',  an' 
who  are  you?" 
an'  drew  him 
back  by  one  o' 
the  legs  o'  his 
pants,  that  was 
big  enough  for 

six  like  him,  an'  then  he  told  me.  He'd  had  so  much  lickin' 
at  home  that  he  couldn't  stand  up  straight,  an'  his  aunt  wanted 
to  lick  him  more  because  he  couldn't,  an'  so  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  run.  Well,  he'd  slep'  in  that  box  a  good  while,  an' 
the  boys  had  fed  him.  He'd  earned  bits  holdin'  a  horse  or 
something  like  that,  an'  he'd  picked  up  odds  an'  ends ;  but  he 
was  most  naked  an'  hungry,  an'  when  he  dried  up  his  eyes 
after  a  good  cry,  I  says  to  him,  "  We'll  go  hunks,  an'  whatever 
I  have  you  shall  have  the  same." 

That's  the  way  Buster  an'  me  come  to  be  pardners,  but  I  ex- 
pect we  was  both  smaller  than  we  thought  we  was,  for  we 
couldn't  get  much  to  do  till  a  boy  gave  me  his  old  blackin'  kit 
an'  taught  me  to  shine.  So  I  did  that  when  I  got  a  chance,  an' 
Buster  sat  round  an'  admired,  an'  we  did  fust-rate  an'  slep  in 
the  box  the  whole  winter. 


STREET   BOYS   SLEEPING    ON   THE    DOCKS. 


164 


STREET  BOYS'  LIFE  ON  THE  DOCKS. 


In  the  spring  we  had  to  budge.  They  cleaned  the  dock 
along  where  our  box  was,  an'  we  never  got  a  place  like  it 
again.  But  we  had  a  pretty  good  one  under  some  steps  that 
did  for  summer,  an'  another  boy  named  Liverpool  went  shares 
with  us.  He  was  eleven,  an'  we  hung  together  awhile  because 
there  wan't  no  one  else.  He  was  English,  an'  his  father  died 
in  hospital,  an'  his  mother  was  respectable  an'  not  fond  o' 
drinkin'  or  such.  He  went  wanderin'  round  on  the  docks  in 
Liverpool,  an'  he  heard  'em  talkin'  about  America  an'  reckoned 
it  would  be  a  good  place  to  come  to,  so  he  begged  captains  to 

take  him  for  cabin- 
boy  till  he  found 
one  that  didn't  so 
much  mind  his 
bein'  little. 

Well  that  cap- 
tain larruped  him 
the  worst  way,  an' 
just  for  cussedness ; 
for  Liverpool  was 
like  a  lamb  for  dis- 
position, an'  you 
couldn't  make  him 
mad  unless  he  saw 
somebody  abused. 
But  he  come 
ashore  all  black  an'  blue  an'  raw,  an'  no  money,  an'  not  much 
clothes  but  some  cast-off  ones  a  sailor  give  him,  big  enough 
to  wrap  up  three  of  him.  When  they  wore  out,  another  give 
him  some  more,  an'  he  looked  like  a  walkin'  rag-bundle  the 
whole  o'  the  time.  It  was  him  that  got  me  to  turn  newsboy, 
for  he  was  picked  up  by  a  man  that  goes  round  among  the 
boys,  an'  I  went  with  him  when  it  was  settled  that  he  was  to 
go  to  the  West.  They  asked  me  to  go  too,  but  I  hung  on 
here.  Seemed  as  if  I  must  on  account  o'  Buster,  for  he  didn't 
want  to  do  much  but  loaf,  an'  I  had  to  have  an  eye  to  him. 
I  tried  papers  awhile  an'  tried  to  make  Buster  take  hold, 


A  DOCK  RATS  DAT  NAP  AFTER  AN  ALL-NIGHT  TOUR. 


BUSTER  TURNS   "DAYBREAK  BOY." 


165 


but  it's  hard  work  whatever  folks  may  think.  It  was  for  him, 
anyhow,  for  he  was  sort  o'  weakly.  I  Learned  to  read  an' 
write  in  the  school,  an'  sometimes  Buster  would  come  awhile, 


A    FAVORITE   PASTIME   FUR   DOCK   RATS. 

an'  he  had  a  fine  voice  an'  he'd 
sing  like  anything.  I  kep'  think- 
in'  I'd  go  AVest  some  time,  an'  I  tried  to  save  a  little,  but  couldn't 
very  well.  So  that's  the  way  we  did  for  a  good  while,  an'  then 
Buster  turned  "Daybreak  Boy"  an'  that  broke  me  all  up. 

You  don't  know  what  a  Daybreak  Boy  is !  It's  a  whole  gang 
what  steals  from  small  craft  below  Hell  Gate,  an'  sell  their 
stealin's  for  whatever  they  get,  which  is  mostly  nothin'.  They're 
all  the  same  as  dock-rats,  only  there  ain't  so  many  of  'em. 


166  BUSTER  GOES  FROM  BAD  TO  WORSE. 

Buster  learned  to  swim  an'  dive,  an'  was  near  enough  a  dock- 
rat  anyhow,  an'  then  Buckshot  Taylor  kind  o'  took  to  him, 
an'  that  was  the  worst  thing  that  ever  happened  to  him. 

Buckshot  Taylor  got  his  name  because  he  was  chuck-full  o' 
buck-shot  in  his  legs  an'  back,  an'  his  face  was  all  bust  up  too. 
He'd  dive  under  a  wharf  and  fasten  one  end  of  a  wire  rope  to 
one  of  the  rafters.  Then  he'd  sneak  along  on  board  a  lead- 
loaded  schooner  and  fasten  the  end  he'd  carried  with  him  to 
whatever  come  handy.  Somebody  keeps  watch  all  the  time 
while  he  does  it.  Then  he  drops  it  in  the  water  when  he  gets 
the  chance,  an'-  down  it  goes  out  o'  sight.  Then  he  dives  again 
an'  comes  up  under  the  wharf,  an'  all  he's  got  to  do  then  is  to 
draw  it  in,  an'  a  heavy  bar  will  sell  for  three  or  may  be  even 
four  dollars. 

Well,  he  took  to  the  Buster,  an'  soon  he  had  him  in 
trainin',  an'  all  I  could  do  wouldn't  stop  him.  He  liked  the  fun 
of  it,  an'  he  was  so  little  he  could  sneak  in  anywheres  an'  he 
got  to  be  a  champion  "Daybreak,"  an'  that  tickled  him.  Some- 
times, to  please  me,  he'd  swear  off  awhile,  but  he  couldn't 
stan'  it.  Then  I  wanted  him  to  go  West,  because  he  had  to 
be  cloin'  something,  but  he  wouldn't,  an'  so  I  hung  on  waitin' 
for  him  to  get  caught  and  sent  up. 

That's  just  what  happened.  He  was  in  the  Reformatory 
awhile,  an'  there  the  boys  taught  him  more  deviltry  than  he'd 
ever  knowed,  an'  he  come  out  about  as  bad  as  they  make  'em. 
I  knew  just  as  much  bad  as  he  did,  but  I  couldn't  stan'  it. 
He  could,  an'  I  dunno  as  it  was  his  fault.  He  kept  fond  o'  me, 
an'  I  was  fond  o'  him,  an'  so  we  sort  o'  held  together. 

That  went  on  for  a  good  while ;  but  three  months  ago  I 
lost  him,  an'  I've  been  lookin'  for  him  ever  since.  It  was  some 
worse  racket  than  ever  he  tried  before  that  has  kep'  him 
hidin'.  I  got  my  eye  on  him  once,  but  he  was  in  a  " run- way" 
an'  slinked  out  o'  sight.  He  sent  word  he'd  be  sent  up  for  life 
if  they'  caught  him,  an'  I  mustn't  be  seen  with  him.  You 
don't  know  what  a  "  run-way  "  is !  This  one  where  I  saw  him 
is  this  way.  Most  o'  the  lots  on  Cherry  an'  Water  an'  Hamil- 
ton Streets  have  two  houses  built  on  'em,  with  a  way  between 


A   FATAL    BLOW.  167 

the  two.  Cherry  an'  Hamilton  Streets  back  up  together,  an' 
there's  only  three  feet  between  'em  ;it  the  rear  tenements. 
Now  if  you're  chased  on  Cherry  Street,  all  you've  gol  to  do  is 
to  run  up  to  the  roof  of  the  rear  house  air  jump  to  the  other, 
go  down  the  skylight,  an'  there  you  are  in  Hamilton  Street  an5 
can  get  off  easy,  while  the  policeman  is  comin'  round  the 
corner.  The  crooks  have  fixed  it  to  suit  themselves.  They  go 
climbin'  round  over  roofs  an'  fences  till  they've  got  it  plain  as 
a  map.  Sometimes  they  hammer  in  blocks  of  wood  for  steps 
an'  they  don't  come  out  where  the  cops  are  ex  pectin'  'em. 
There's  a  hundred  run-ways,  an'  they  knows  "em  all. 

I  was  awful  worried  over  Buster.  I  know'd  if  he  could  only 
get  away  he'd  do  well  enough,  an'  I  planned  to  hire  him  to  go 
West  an'  try  it.  They'd  dyed  his  hair  an'  made  him  all  up  dif- 
ferent ;  but  I  knew  where  he  hung  out,  an'  so  a  week  ago  I  went 
in  one  night,  bound  to  find  him.  The  police  had  laid  for  a  raid 
that  night,  but  I  nor  nobody  knew  it.  Buster  was  there,  sure 
enough,  an'  he  was  way  down  in  the  mouth.  AVe  talked  awhile, 
an'  he  had  about  promised  me  he'd  do  as  I  wanted  when  the 
woman  in  the  next  room  gave  the  alarm. 

I  don't  know  how  Buster  ever  took  such  a  thing  in  his  head, 
but  he  did.  He  made  for  the  roof,  an'  I  after  him,  an'  just  as 
we  got  there  he  drew  on  me.  "  You  meant  to  give  me  away, 
did  you  ? "  says  he.  "  D — n  you  !  Take  that  !  "  an'  he  gave  it 
to  me  in  the  side.  I  pitched  over,  an'  down  I  went  into  the 
run- way,  an'  there  they  picked  me  up  an'  brought  me  here. 
He  didn't  mean  it,  an'  he  got  away,  an'  so  I  don't  care,  an'  he 
sent  me  word  the  other  day  that  when  I  got  well  he'd  go  AVest 
or  anywhere  I  wanted.  So  you  see  it's  come  out  pretty  good 
after  all,  an'  I  don't  mind  lyin'  here  because  I  go  over  it  all  in 
my  mind  an'  it's  good  as  the  the-a-ter  to  think  they  haven't  got 
him  an'  won't.     An'  when  I  get  well, 


Jack's  voice  had  grown  steadily  weaker.  "  I'm  so  tired,'' 
he  went  on.  "I  think  I'm  goin'  to  sleep.  If"  —  and  here  he 
looked  up  silently  for  a  moment ;  '*  If  I  ain't  goin'  to  get  well, 
Buster'll  go  to  the  bad  certain,  for  there  ain't  nobody  but  me 


168  DEATH   OF  JACK. 

he'll  listen  to.  But  I  shall  get  well  soon,  an'  now  I'll  have  a 
sleep  an'  thank  you  for  comin '." 

"  Will  he  get  well  ? "  I  whispered  to  the  nurse  as  we  went 
down  the  ward. 

"  At  first  we  thought  he  would,"  she  made  answer.  "  Kow 
it  is  doubtful,  for  there  is  something  wrong  internally.  He 
may  live  and  he  may  go  at  any  time,"  and  she  turned  away  to 
another  patient. 

A  week  later  came  this  note  from  the  nurse :  — 

"Jack  asked  to  have  you  sent  for  yesterday,  and  when  we  said  you  were 
out  of  town  he  begged  for  pencil  and  paper  and  made  me  promise  to  seal 
his  note  up  at  once  and  let  no  one  see  it.  It  is  inclosed  herein,  just  as  he 
dropped  it  when  the  end  came.  We  found  him  lying  there  quite  dead,  and 
you  will  see  a  smile  bright  as  an  angel's  on  his  beautiful  face  when  you  come, 
which  must  be  at  once  if  you  want  to  see  him  before  he  is  buried." 

On  the  scrap  of  paper  within  he  had  traced  in  staggering 
letters, 

"  Plese  find  Buster  at ." 


There  it  ended,  nor  has  any  questioning  yet  revealed  who  it 
was  for  whom  he  sold  his  life,  —  unwittingly,  it  is  true,  but 
given  no  less  fully  and  freely. 

"  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down 
his  life  for  his  friend." 

No  work  in  the  great  city  so  appeals  to  all  that  is  just,  all 
that  is  generous  in  man,  as  the  welfare  of  these  street  children, 
and  none  yields  larger  reward.  And  yet  the  final  word  must  be 
that  fifteen  thousand  homeless,  hungry,  cold,  and  naked  child- 
ren wander  to-day  in  our  streets,  and  as  yet  no  agency  has 
been  found  that  meets  their  need,  and  the  hands  that  would 
rescue  are  powerless.  The  city  money  jingles  in  Tammany 
pockets,  and  the  taxpayers  heap  up  fortunes  for  Tammany  poli- 
ticians, while  these  thousands  of  little  ones  are  outcasts  and 
soon  will  be  criminals. 

The  children  of  the  slums  are  with  us,  born  to  inheritances 
that  tax  every  power  good  men  and  women  can  bring  to  bear 
on  them  for  tl*eir  correction.     Hopeless  as  the  outlook  often 


THE   NEED   OF  PRACTICAL  TRAINING.  169 

seems,  salvation  for  the  future  of  the  masses  lies  in  these  child- 
ren. Not  in  a  teaching*  which  gives  them  merely  the  power 
to  grasp  at  the  mass  of  sensational  reading  which  fixes  every 
wretched  tendency  and  blights  every  seed  of  good,  but  in  a 
practical  training  which  shall  give  the  boys  trades  and  force 
their  restless  hands  and  mischievous  minds  to  occupations  that 
may  ensure  an  honest  living. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  OPEN  DOORS  OF  MERCY  — THE  SOCIETY  FOR  THE  PRE- 
VENTION OF  CRUELTY  TO  CHILDREN  — BRUTES  IN  HUMAN 
FORM  — THE  DEMON  OF  DRINK  — RESCUE  WORK. 

"That  is  Mary  Ellen"  — The  First  Child  Rescued  — A  Dying  Woman's  Re- 
quest— What  the  Court  Saw  when  the  Blanket  was  Unrolled  — A  Dramatic 
Scene  —  Little  Acrobats  —  Helpless  Little  Sufferers  —  Specious  Pleas  of 
Criminal  Lawyers  —  Inhuman  Parents  —  A  Lovely  Face  Hidden  under 
Filth  and  Clotted  Blood  —  Extreme  Cruelty  —  A  Fit  Subject  for  the  Lash 

—  Restored  to  Home  at  Last  —  A  Sad  Case — "Before  and  After"  —  Two 
Boy  Tramps  —  Driven  from  Home  —  Cases  of  Special  Brutality  —  Shiver- 
ing from  Fright  — Wild-Eyed  Children  —  A  Fresh  Arrival  at  the  Society's 
Rooms — "Everything  Must  be  Burned" — "He  is  Alive"  —  The  First 
Sleep  in  a  Bed  —  A  Life  of  Pain  —  A  Drunken  Mother  of  Seven  Children 

—  Unspeakable  Horrors  —  A  Lily  from  a  Dung-Heap  —  The  Sale  of  Liquor 
to  Children  —  Children  as  Fierce  as  Starved  Dogs  —  Terrible  Instruments 
of  Torture  —  The  Good  Work  of  the  Society. 

THE  brutal  American  is  of  the  rarest.  It  is  because  New 
York  is  less  an  American  city  than  almost  any  other  in 
the  United  States  that  the  need  for  the  "  Society  for  the  Pre- 
vention of  Cruelty  to  Children  "  was  so  sore.  As  the  foreign 
element  increased,  and  every  form  of  ignorance  with  it,  drunk- 
enness as  well  as  natural  brutality  worked  together.  Women 
no  less  than  men  were  guilty  of  almost  unspeakable  crimes 
toward  helpless  childhood,  but  no  law  then  in  existence  allowed 
of  interference  between  parent  and  child.  If  screams  resounded 
through  a  tenement-house  it  was  taken  for  granted  that  the 
child  deserved  all  it  got  and  more;  and  if  it  were  a  case  of 
beating  by  drunken  father  or  mother,  the  neighbors  simply 
counseled  hiding,  or,  in  extreme  cases,  running  away. 

So  it  went  on  till  1875.  The  frightful  increase  of  brutality 
to  animals  had  resulted  in  the  formation  of  the  "  Society  for 
the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals,"  —  a  step  which  was 

(170) 


A   DYING    WOMAN'S   REQUEST.  171 

long  opposed  on  the  ground  that  it  interfered  with  the  right  of 

the  individual  to  do  what  seemed  best  with  one's  own.  By 
this  time,  however,  it  had  demonstrated  its  necessity,  and 
gained  public  respect  and  sympathy  in  a  fashion  that  has  uever 
ceased;  but  for  the  children  there  was  neither  help  nor  protec- 
tion. 

What  began  it?  Open  the  door  of  the  gallery  of  hundreds 
of  photographs,  to  be  seen  by  all  in  the  President's  room  at 
the  headquarters  of  the  Society,  and  heading  the  list  on  the 
first  leaf  of  the  great  frame  is  a  child's  face. 

"That  is  Man7  Ellen,"  the  attendant  states,  as  if  the  name 
explained  itself  as  easily  as  if  he  had  said  "That  is  Victoria  " 
or  "  The  Princess  of  Wales." 

Yes,  Mary  Ellen  began  it,  and  this  is  how. 

Late  in  1874,  on  the  top  floor  of  a  wretched  tenement- 
house  in  the  Fourth  Ward,  a  dying  woman  lay  in  the  last 
stages  of  consumption.  With  the  horror  of  the  very  poor  for 
all  hospitals  she  had  refused  to  be  taken  to  one,  and  lay  there 
dying  by  inches  and  visited  by  the  City  Missionary,  a  woman 
beloved  by  Protestant  and  Catholic  alike. 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  ? "  she  questioned  one 
day,  and  the  woman  answered, 

"  My  time  is  short,  and  it  don't  make  much  difference  for 
me,  but  oh,  can't  you  do  something  for  that  poor  little  girl 
next  door?  I  can't  die  in  peace  while  they  beat  her  so.  She 
screams  so  that  some  have  tried  to  get  at  her,  but  she's 
always  locked  up.  It's  her  stepmother  does  it.  Can't  some- 
thing be  done?" 

The  missionary  sent  to  the  Police  Station,  and  her  story 
was  listened  to  with  the  respect  she  had  earned,  but  the 
Captain  shook  his  head. 

"You  must  furnish  evidence  of  assault  before  Ave  can 
arrest,"  he  said.  "Unless  you  can  prove  that  an  offense  has 
been  committed,  we  can't  interfere,  and  all  you  know  is  only 
hearsay." 

A  series  of  visits  to  different  benevolent  societies  charged 
with  the  care  of  children  brought  the  same  reply  from  all. 


172  HOW   THE   FIRST   CHILD   WAS   RESCUED. 

"If  the  child  is  legally  brought  to  us  under  an  order  of 
the  Court,  and  is  a  proper  subject,  we  will  take  it,  otherwise 
we  cannot  act  in  the  matter." 

Hampered  thus  on  every  side  she  went  next  to  several 
well-known  charitable  gentlemen,  and  asked  what  could  be 
done.  From  each  and  all  came  the  same  reply, —  "It  is  a 
dangerous  thing  to  interfere  between  parent  and  child.  You 
might  get  yourself  into  trouble  if  you  did  so,  as  parents  are 
proverbially  the  best  guardians  of  their  children. " 

Day  after  day  the  piteous  appeal  of  the  dying  woman  went 
on:  "I  can't  die  till  something  is  done.  The  child  is  being 
murdered  by  inches," — till  at  last  in  desperation  the  mis- 
sionary said: 

"  I  must  make  one  more  effort.  There  is  one  man  in  New 
York  who  has  never  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  cry  of  the  help- 
less, and  who  has  spent  his  life  in  just  this  work  for  the  bene- 
fit of  unoffending  animals.     I  will  go  to  Henry  Bergh." 

She  went;  and  Mr.  Bergh,  who  knew  the  force  of  law, 
turned  at  once  to  his  friend,  the  counsel  for  the  society,  Mr. 
Elbridge  T.  Gerry.  To  interfere  unless  backed  by  the  law 
might  mean  death  or  something  worse  for  the  child,  but  after 
much  consultation  Mr.  Gerry  decided  that  if  there  was  no 
law  the  time  had  certainly  come  when  there  must  be  one,  and 
that  this  should  be  made  a  test  case.  As  he  himself  assumed 
all  responsibility  a  warrant  was  granted  and  the  person  of  the 
child  secured.  The  hour  for  holding  Court  was  near,  and  the 
lawyer  and  officers  alike  looked  dubiously  at  their  tiny  client ; 
a  child  of  six,  with  matted  hair,  covered  with  filth,  alive  with 
vermin,  and  her  few  rags  insufficient  to  hide  her  starved  and 
beaten  little  body,  a  mass  of  livid  bruises. 

A  blanket  was  brought,  and  the  child  rolled  in  it,  and  in 
the  officer's  arms  the  strange  bundle  was  brought  into  court 
followed  by  a  curious  throng,  who  wondered  what  the  tall 
and  elegant  counsel  might  have  on  his  hands  now.  The  case 
was  catted,  and  Mr.  Gerry,  stepping  forward,  announced  that 
he  was  present  with  his  client,  and,  unrolling  the  blanket, 
placed  the  child  on  the  table  where  all  could  see.     A  murmur 


LITTLE    \'[ i    I  IMS   OF  CRUELTY.  173 

of  pity  and  indignation  went  up  as  the  scared  Little  thing 
looked    around    in    terror.      A   thousand    witi  mid   not 

have  spoken  so  forcibly  as  the  one  look  that  showed  what  life 
had  done  for  her  thus  far.  The  judge  made  small  delay,  and 
the  child  was  transferred  temporarily  to  the  custody  of  the 
"Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals"  till  Mrs. 
Wheeler,  the  missionary,  herself  decided  to  take  her  in  charge. 

As  if  by  magic  a  flood  of  such  cases  poured  in.  The  news 
of  the  trial  had  spread  through  every  court  and  alley,  not  only 
in  the  Fourth  Ward,  but  throughout  all  the  poor  quarters  of 
the  city ;  and  an  appalling  list  of  outrages  and  abuses  mounted 
up.  Mothers  came  to  show  bloodstained  clubs  and  bent  pokers 
with  which  drunken  fathers  had  assailed  helpless  little  ones. 
The  children  themselves,  bruised,  gashed,  often  maimed  for 
life,  were  brought  in  evidence.  It  was  impossible  for  Mr. 
Bergh  or  his  aids,  already  overworked,  to  do  justice  even  in 
faint  degree  to  the  crowding  claims,  and  very  sh<  >rtly  followed 
the  creation  and  speedy  incorporation  of  the  "Society  for  the 
Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Children,"  the  'first  of  its  kind  in  the 
world. 

One  most  notable  feature  of  the  work  was  its  effect  upon  child 
beggary,  these  children  having  to  a  great  extent  disappeared 
from  the  streets.  Miserable  little  girls,  compelled  to  sell  flowers 
at  the  doors  of  places  of  vile  resort,  —  their  business  being  often 
a  cover  for  vile  practices,  no  longer  linger  there  night  after 
night.  Every  one  who  reads  the  daily  papers  will  day  after 
day  find  therein  reports  of  the  cases  prosecuted,  and  the  details 
of  the  rescue  of  hundreds  of  children  from  lives  of  pauperism 
and  crime.  The  shameful  exhibition  of  little  children  in  acro- 
batic performances,  dangerous  to  life  and  limb,  has  been  wholly 
suppressed,  and  Juvenile  Opera  Troupes,  in  which  children  of  a 
tender  age  are  compelled,  night  after  night,  to  lose  their  natu- 
ral rest  in  order  to  put  money  into  the  pockets  of  avaricious 
managers  and  thoughtless  parents,  have  been  broken  up. 

The  year  1879  saw  one  of  the  most  vital  pieces  of  work  ever 
accomplished  by  this  Society.     For  years  previously  an  organ- 
ized system  had  existed  by  which  miserable  little  Italian  child- 
u 


174  BRUTAL   TRAFFIC   IN   CHILDREN. 

ren  were  sold  by  their  parents  and  relatives  into  a  state  of 
bondage  as  bad  as,  and  in  some  features  worse  than,  any  phase 
of  slavery.  Men  known  as  "padroni"  went  to  Italy,  and 
bought  up  little  peasant  children  in  troops,  under  pretence  of 
teaching  them  music.  They  were  then  shipped  to  America  and 
compelled  to  work  in  the  streets  and  highways  of  the  country 
as  wandering  musicians  and  peddlers,  while  their  entire  earn- 
ings were  seized  and  squandered  by  the  human  brutes  who 
beat  and  tortured  them  till  they  dared  not  complain. 

More  helpless  than  others,  because  ignorant  of  English, 
these  children  suffered  on,  till  one  who  had  picked  up  enough 
to  understand,  heard  that  the  Society  existed,  and  with  two  of 
his  companions  decided  to  appeal  to  the  Italian  Consul-Gen- 
eral,  and  through  him  to  the  Society.  The  results  were  beyond 
the  wildest  hopes  of  the  forlorn  little  exiles,  who  were  the  last 
to  suffer  under  the  shameful  oppression  of  the  first  years  of 
Italian  immigration. 

Another  engine  potent  for  good  was  enlisted  in  the  service 
of  the  Society,  its  first  use  being  in  the  Eeport  for  1887.  So 
long  as  the  few  woodcuts  given  as  portraits  of  the  children 
were  the  work  of  any  artist  on  illustrated  journals,  the  defend- 
ants in  special  cases  were  always  able  to  urge  the  plea, 

"  Oh,  the  child  never  looked  like  that !  The  artist  touched 
up  the  sketch  so  as  to  make  it  as  sensational  as  possible." 

Over  and  over  again  have  the  lawyers  of  the  Tombs  urged 
this  in  behalf  of  their  clients,  and  even  at  times  moved  the  jury 
to  momentary  conviction  that  they  must  be  right.  But  with 
the  advent  of  the  portable  camera,  and  even  before  this  ally  of 
the  detective  had  reached  such  perfection,  came  the  possibility 
of  showing  things  in  their  actual  condition  at  the  hour  of  ap- 
peal or  of  transfer  to  the  Society.  The  Keport  for  1887,  with 
its  half  dozen  illustrative  pictures,  needs  no  other  recommenda- 
tion of  its  work.  Cases  as  sad,  and  as  full  of  shame  and  horror 
that  such  evils  could  exist,  are  on  the  pages  of  each  and  all, 
year  after  year  giving  glimpses  of  a  life  hardly  credible  in  a 
civilized  community  ;  but  seldom  had  such  reality  looked  from 
the  printed  page  as  faced  one  in  the  picture  of  little  Antonia 


A  MARVELOUS   TRANSFORMATION. 


175 


Cava,  a  seven-year-old  child  who  for  a  year  after  the  mother 
had  forsaken  husband  and  children  had  been  in  the  care  of  a 
woman  living  in  the  ki  Greal  Bend  "  on  Mulberry  Street. 

In  this  case  an  anonymous  Letter  called  the  attention  of  the 
Society  to  the  case.  The  woman,  whose  husband  kept  a  stale 
beer  dive,  drank,  and 
the  two  had  spent  their 
drunken  fury  on  the 
child,  who  when  found 
was  a  wild-eyed  crea- 
ture shrinking  in  abject 
terror  from  whoever 
came  near.  She  had 
reason.  Her  hair  was 
matted  with  blood,  and 
her  face,  arms,  and  body 
were  covered  with 
wounds  around  which 
the  blood  had  dried  and 
remained.  A  few  rags 
of  clothing  could  not 
hide  the  hideous  bruises, 
and  yet  a  lovely  face 
was  hidden  under  this 
mask  of  filth  and  clotted 
blood.  Transferred,  as 
is  the  custom  of  the 
Society,  to  those  of  her 


il« 


iij| 


Afl  rescued  by  the  Society's  officers.  —  Face  cut,  bruised, 
and  swollen  by  beatings  from  drunken  parents. 


own  faith,  the    Sisters 

of   St.    Dominick   have 

good  reason  to  be  proud  of  this  marvelous  change,  no  greater, 

however,  than  that  encountered  a  little  farther  on. 

Here  is  a  boy  barely  ten  years  old,  whose  left  eye  is 
nearly  destroyed,  and  whose  ears  have  been  partially  torn  from 
his  head  by  a  drunken  father,  who  at  the  same  time  threw  the 
eighteen-months  baby  across  the  room  and  beat  his  wife  till 
she  escaped  and  ran  to  the  street  tor  help.     This  man,  already 


176  DREADFUL   CRUELTY   TO    CHILDREN. 

on  the  Society's  books,  was  sentenced  for  one  year,  and  the 
Judge  regretted  that  he  could  not  order  a  hundred  lashes  in 
addition. 

Next  follows  a  case  numbered  23,891  in  the  Eeport :  An 
anonymous  communication  received  by  the  Society  stated  that 
a  child  of  six  years,  living  with  her  father  and  stepmother  at 
No.  403  East  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-first  Street,  was 
inhumanly  treated.  An  officer  called  at  the  apartments  and 
found  Jennie  Lewis,  a  tiny,  frail  child,  six  years  of  age,  upon 
her  knees,  brush  in  hand,  scrubbing  the  floor,  her  face  covered 
with  bruises.  "Mamma  has  gone  out  walking,"  she  said, 
"  please  go  away,  for  if  she  comes  back  and  finds  I  have  let 
any  one  in  she  will  beat  me,"  —  and  the  little  form  shivered 
from  fright.  The  officer  tried  to  quiet  her  by  assurances  that 
she  should  not  be  hurt.  Her  face  and  body  were  much  dis- 
colored and  covered  with  bruises,  and  her  emaciated  arms  were 
patched  with  red  spots  from  pinches.  The  child  at  last  told 
her  sad  story.  She  once  had  an  own  mother,  but  did  not  know 
where  she  was  now.  Her  "  papa's  name  was  Mr.  White,  now, 
but  it  used  to  be  Mr.  Lewis."  Her  own  mamma,  who,  she 
added,  "  is  dead,  I  guess,"  was  good  to  her,  but  this  one  beat 
her  and  never  let  her  go  downstairs,  and  "  yesterday  she  took 
me  by  the  hair  and  jammed  my  face  on  the  floor,  —  that's 
why  it  looks  so  now;"  and  then  with  a  frightened  start  she 
added :     "  You  must  go  now,  or  I  will  get  beat  again." 

Examination  showed  that  the  father  had  abandoned  his 
wife  and  taken  the  child,  going  off  with  another  woman.  The 
child's  real  mother,  who  had  searched  for  her  in  anguish,  knew 
nothing  of  her  whereabouts  until  the  newspapers  published 
reports  of  the  case  as  prosecuted  by  the  Society,  when,  still 
hoping  to  find  her  child,  she  inquired  at  the  Society's  office  and 
learned  the  whole  truth. 

The  mother  rejoiced  as  over  one  risen  from  the  dead,  and  as 
she  proved  honest  and  worthy  the  Society  gave  her  the  custody 
of  the  child,  —  injured  it  may  be  for  life  in  weakened  body  and 
crushed  spirit,  but  at  least  certain  of  love  and  care. 

Turn  now  to  the  Gallery  in  the  President's  room  in  the 


DISTRESSING    C  \ 


177 


Society's  building  at  Twenty-third  Street  and  Fourth  Avenue. 
Eere  is  an  arrangement  like  that  of  the  Rogue's  Gralleryat  the 
Police  Headquarters;  and  though  it  is  impossible  to  give  every 

case,  all  the  representative  ones  may  be  looked  at  in  turn. 
"  Before  and  after  "  is  the  order  of  the  photographs,  hut  often 
there  is  no  "  after"  save  that  brought  by  merciful  death. 

Here  on  a  soap-box  is 
a  picture  of  the  body  of 
an  eleven-months  baby 
starved  to  death  by  a 
drunken  mother.  The 
little  frame  is  only  a 
skeleton,  and  the  pitiful 
face  has  a  strange  smile, 
;is  if  of  triumph  at  escape. 
Near  it  is  the  figure  of  a 
seven-year-old  child  found 
far  ii])  town  on  the  East 
side,  with  her  hands  tied 
with  a  bit  of  old  rope 
cutting  into  old  sores. 
Body,  head,  and  face  were 
covered  with  bruises  and 
cuts,  many  of  them  fresh 
and  bleeding.  This  had 
been   done  by  a  drunken  Patrick  kbeuey— age  11. 

father     and      Steom Other    As  foun(1  lu,lf  starved  by  the  Society"*  officers.— Face 
*  '  cut  and  body  bruised  by  inhuman  parents. 

who    had    also    nearly 

starved  her ;  and  an  indignant  policeman  on  the  beat  had  taken 
the  law  into  his  own  hands  and  arrested  both  without  waiting 
for  any  process.  Both  were  convicted,  and  the  child  herself 
recovered  with  that  marvelous  recuperative  power  of  even  the 
most  defrauded  childhood,  and  looks  out  with  happy  eyes  from 
the  photograph  taken  a  few  weeks  later. 

Farther  on  one  encounters  the  photographs  of  two  street 

Arabs,  brothers,  John  and  Willie   D ,  two  small  beggars, 

made  so  by  their  father,  whose  only  object  in  life  was  dis- 


178 


TWO   JUVENILE   TRAMPS. 


covered  to  be  that  of  getting  enough  money  to  keep  him  in 
lager  beer.  The  boys  were  arrested  and  held  for  examination 
until  an  investigation  could  be  made  of  their  home  and  sur- 
roundings. Their  father  was  found  in  the  upper  room  of  a 
tenement-house  where  he  had  his  "  home,"  if  such  it  could  be 
called  ;  his  wife  dead,  and  a  daughter  of  twelve  years  his  only 
housekeeper.     The  boys  kept  the  family  in  food  by  their  beg- 

^_,  gmg    expedi- 

tions, often 
__  sleeping  out 
nights  in 
boxes  or 
hogsheads. 
Xeither  ever 
attended 
school,  nor 
could  they 
read  or 
write.  Beat- 
en when  they 
failed  to 
beg  enough, 
the  ragged 
little  fellows 
plied  their 
trade  till  res- 
cue  d  and 
committed  to 
the  care  of 
their   kind   have 


JOHN  AND   WILLIE   D . 

Two  boy  tramps,  brothers,  as  they  appeared  when  arrested. 


the   Juvenile   Asylum,   where  hundreds  of 
found  refuge. 

An  officer  of  the  Society,  patrolling  the  streets  in  Harlem 
for  just  such  cases,  found  on  one  of  the  stormiest  days  of 
winter  a  little  child  of  ten,  half  naked  and  begging  from 
door  to  door  with  the  old  story  of  drunken  parents,  who  found 
in  his  pitiful  face  their  fund  for  drinking.  It  is  a  matter  of 
daily  occurrence,  yet  the  sadness  is  never  less,  for  each  case 


A  SAFE  REFUGE  FOR  ABUSED   CHILDREN.  179 

holds  new  forms  of  barbarity  and  outrage,  and,  accustomed  as 
the  officers  are  to  every  phase  of  WTong  thai  unhappy  child- 
hood can  suffer,  it  is  impossible  to  grow  callous  or  indifferent. 

Turning  the  leaves  of  this  wonderful  photographic  record, 
the  beauty  of  many  of  the  children  is  a  constant  surprise. 
Especially  is  this  true  of  the  many  English  children  brought 
over  in  acrobatic  troups,  many  of  whom  are  as  fair  as  those 
far  remote  ancestors  whom  the  good  bishop  looked  upon  as  well- 
nigh  angels  rather  than  captive  Anglo-Saxons. 

Americans  are  few  till  we  come  to  older  girls,  and  here  the 
saddest  stories  begin,  for  many  have  been  rescued  from  lives  of 
shame  to  which  they  have  often  been  sold  by  infamous  parents 
or  relatives.  Here  are  faces  so  fair  that  they  might  have  come 
from  the  highest  ranks  of  society,  and  each  has  its  tale  impos- 
sible to  give  here.  Some  are  now  happy  wives  and  mothers. 
Others  have  yielded  to  care  and  for  a  time  welcomed  better 
life,  then,  through  sudden  temptation,  have  fallen,  often  to  be 
called  back  again  and  again  till  lost  to  sight  in  the  under  world 
in  which  a  part  of  the  great  city  dwells. 

Take  a  day  of  the  Society's  work  as  it  goes  on  from  hour  to 
hour  before  all  who  care  to  watch.  Day  and  night  alike 
the  doors  stand  open,  for  night  is  the  time  in  which  drunken- 
ness most  abounds,  and  with  it  the  beatings  and  assaults  that 
give  the  Society  its  most  frequent  cause  of  interference. 

Entering  the  great  old-fashioned  house,  giving  barely  room 
for  all  that  must  be  done,  we  find  the  chief  office  or  Bureau  of 
Reception  in  a  small  outer  room,  where  several  clerks  are 
at  hand  to  receive  applications  or  complaints,  or  inquiries  as  to 
the  welfare  of  cases  already  received  and  provided  for.  Here 
come  the  patrols  of  the  Society  with  street  waifs  driven  out  by 
cruel  parents,  or  the  policemen  who  have  interfered  in  cases  of 
special  brutality.  Here,  too,  is  the  telephone  through  which 
sounds  many  a  cry  for  help  and  demand  for  instant  sending  of 
an  officer  of  the  Society,  whose  badge  takes  him  safely  into 
the  worst  localities.  Each  case  as  it  appears  is  registered 
in  the  great  books,  and  then  handed  over  to  the  matron  and  at- 
tendants in  the  temporary  home  where  all  are  kept  till  the  case 


180 


A  TYPICAL  CASE. 


is  tried  if  necessary,  or  the  child  transferred  to  an  asylum 
or  protectory. 

Between  forty  and  fifty  can  be  housed  and  fed,  for  the 
upper  part  of  the  building  is  fitted  up  with  dormitories  for 
boys  and  girls,  and  a  bedroom  or  two  for  special  cases.  There 
is  also  a  great  wardrobe  lined  with  shelves  on  which  multitudes 
of  garments  await  wearers ;  dining-rooms,  kitchen  and  laundry, 
with  play  and  sitting-rooms,  all  of  spotless  neatness.  The  rows 
of  snow-Avhite  little  beds  can  hardly  be  matched  by  any  other 
hospital  or  asylum  in  all  the  long  list,  the  matron  seeming 
to  have  a  positive  genius  for  cleanliness. 

Day  or  night  the  usually  half -starved  child  —  for  starvation 

is  part  of  the  torture  of 
such  lives  till  the  Society 
comes  to  the  rescue  —  is 
sure  of  a  meal,  —  bread, 
milk,  and  light  food  being 
always  in  readiness. 

Here,  as  eleven  o'clock 
strikes,  is  led  in,  stumbling 
from  weakness,  and  half 
blind  from  a  deep  cut  over 


the  eye,  a  boy  of  ten. 
There  is  a  cut  on  his  head 
too,  about  which  the  hair 
is  matted,  and  bruises  at 
every  point  where  a  bruise 
can  show.  "  Michael  Kev- 
ins," recites  the  officer  to 
the  waiting  clerk.  "  Found 
on  a  grating  in  Ann  Street, 
driven  out  by  a  drunken 
father  after  a  beating. 
Father  arrested  and  to  an- 
swer to-morrow  morning 
in  the  Tombs  Court." 
Down  go  name,  age,  etc.,  and  a  door  opens  at  the   end 


MICHAEL  NEVINS  —  AGE   10. 

As  rescued  by  the  Society's  officers.     Face  bruised 
and  swollen  by  constant  beating. 


CHILDREN   RESCUED    FROM   THE   SLUMS.  181 

of  the  partition  and  the  matron  takes  the  boy's  hand.     A  look 
from  her  is  sufficient. 

"  Everything  must  be  burned,"  she  exclaims.    "He  is  alive. r 

The  %,alive"  means  not  the  child,  who  truly  seems  half 
dead,  hut  the  vermin  that  a  moment's  inspection  shows  are 
swarming  all  over  the  wretched  little  iigure. 

-Sometimes  it  is  possible  to  wash  the  clothing,  hut  gener- 
ally it  goes  at  once  into  the  furnace,"  says  the  attendant,  and 
Ave  follow  for  a  moment  and  look  into  the  bath-room,  marble- 
lined  half  way  to  the  ceiling,  with  porcelain-lined  tubs,  not 
a  pipe  concealed,  and  every  precaution  against  either  vermin  or 
possibility  of  contagion  provided  for  perfectly.  Often  the  head 
must  be  shaved,  and  generally  doused  with  larkspur  tincture. 
the  only  effectual  destroyer  of  the  pests  for  head  and  body. 
One  well-known  druggist  makes  his  contribution  to  the  Society 
in  the  form  of  gallons  of  larkspur,  which  is  used  with  a  freedom 
born  of  long  experience. 

Often  this  bath  is  the  first  the  child  has  ever  known,  and, 
as  the  casing  of  dirt  dissolves,  the  little  bodies  show  strangely 
perfect  and  lovely,  even  with  the  hideous  life  that  has  been 
theirs  from  the  beginning.  But  most  frequently  they  are  so 
scarred  and  marred  with  such  pitiable  bruises,  cuts,  and  sores, 
that  the  tenderest  handling  is  required.  Wounds  are  dressed, 
bruises  treated,  and  after  as  large  a  meal  as  is  deemed  good, 
the  child,  stupefied  with  wonder  at  the  whole  process,  and  often 
crying  for  joy,  is  put  in  one  of  the  little  white  beds,  and  sleeps 
such  sleep  as  it  has  never  known,  waking  incredulous  to  find 
that  food  and  warmth  and  comfort  are  not  dreams  but  happy 
realities. 

Eeturning  to  the  office  when  the  processes  just  described 
have  been  completed,  Ave  find  that  two  little  girls,  abandoned 
by  a  drunken  mother  and  half  starved,  have  just  been  brought 
in.  They  are  comfortably  dressed  and  less  dirty  than  would 
be  expected  after  tAvo  days  in  the  streets;  but  the  same  pro- 
cesses are  necessary,  and  they  disappear  through  the  waiting 
doorway,  looking  shyly  up  in  the  matron's  face. 

As  they  pass  within,  a  tall  policeman  appears,  bearing  a 


182  SAD   STORIES  FROM  REAL  LIFE. 

two-years-old  baby,  mute  from  fear,  and  not  only  half  naked, 
but  covered  with  bruises.  Its  mother  is  well  known.  Most 
of  her  time  is  spent  on  the  Island,  —  a  drunken  spree  as  soon 
as  she  comes  out  from  serving  one  sentence  sending  her  back  to 
serve  another.  There  were  some  older  ones  who  care  for  the 
smaller  children,  seven  in  all,  but  Ann  had  been  specially  active 
this  time  and  had  beaten  every  child  who  did  not  have  presence 
of  mind  enough  to  escape,  ending  with  the  baby,  whose  pitiful 
screams  had  drawn  in  the  nearest  policeman.  He  tells  his 
tale,  and  the  baby  passes  in  for  its  share  in  the  blessedness  the 
others  have  found. 

Unspeakable  are  many  of  the  tales  that  one  must  hear. 
Atrocious  assaults  occur  of  so  gross  a  nature  that  it  seems  impos- 
sible to  credit  the  hideous  details.  One  little  thing  of  six  is 
brought  up  from  a  sailors'  boarding-house  in  the  Fourth  Ward, 
a  basement  in  which  during  her  short  years  she  has  witnessed 
nightly  orgies  of  drunken  women  and  sailors.  She  has  inno- 
cent blue  eyes  and  a  delicate  face,  but  is  a  mass  of  filth  neg- 
lected from  babyhood.  An  hour  later  she  lies  in  a  little  white 
bed,  as  fair  a  face  as  child  could  own,  and  smiles  up  at  the 
matron  with  a  look  so  sweet  that  one  marvels  how  such  a  lily 
can  have  sprung  from  such  a  dung-heap.  But  it  happens  more 
often  than  one  would  think,  and  the  little  lives  grow  into  gentle 
girlhood  and  in  more  than  one  case  happy  and  prosperous  after- 
days,  in  which  their  own  children  bear  no  taint  of  the  foulness 
left  behind. 

Still  another  class  of  cases  are  children  arrested  as  they  are 
entering  or  leaving  liquor-saloons  to  which  they  have  been  sent 
to  buy  drink.  The  law  providing  for  such  cases  was  enacted 
some  years  since,  and  makes  it  an  indictable  offense  to  sell 
liquor  in  this  way,  but  the  proprietors  of  cheap  saloons  do  it 
persistently,  asking  no  questions  and  taking  their  chances  of 
prosecution.  Hundreds  of  children  are  employed  in  this  way, 
and  many  of  them  find  their  way  at  last  to  the  Society. 

This  was  the  case  with  two  or  three  brought  in,  and  passed 
on  to  the  shelter  of  the  Home  till  their  cases  could  be  decided. 
From  the  Chinese  quarter,  where  unspeakable  outrage  goes  on, 


WILD   AND   STARVED   STREET    WAIFS. 


183 


came  one.  a  baby  of  three,  the  child  of  an  Irishwoman  and  a 
Chinaman,  dressed  in  Chinese  costume,  and  a  subject  of  fi< 
dispute  in  these  unsavory  regions,  as  the  Chinaman  wished  to 
send    her   to  China, 
and   had  planned   to 
do  so  when  the  Soci- 
ety was  notified  and 
interfered. 

Some  of  these 
waifs  are  as  fierce 
and  wild  as  starved 
S  5,  but  for  the  most 
part  they  are  silent, 
scared,  trembling  lit- 
tle wretches,  covered 
with  bruises,  know- 
ing no  argument  but 
-trap,  and  look- 
ing with  feeble  inter- 
est at  the  large  col- 
lection, at  the  Socie- 
ty's headquarters,  of 
whips,  knives,  canes. 
broomsticks,  and  all 
the  weapons  employ- 
ed in  torture,  many 
of  them  still  blood-stained  or  bent  from  the  force  of  the  blows 
given.  There  they  hang  on  the  wall  of  the  inner  room,  a  per- 
petual appeal  to  all  who  look,  to  aid  in  the  work  of  rescue  and 
make  such  barbarity  forevermore  impossible.  Face  after  face 
comes  up.  each  one  an  added  protest  against  the  misery  it  has 
known.  Here  is  little  Xellie  Brady,  with  hair  a  painter  would 
gaze  at  with  delight,  found  hungry  and  abandoned,  wandering 
in  the  streets.  The  gallery  of  photographs  shows  what  one 
day  of  care  had  brought  about,  and  gives  a  face  full  of  sweet- 
ness and  promise  like  hundreds  of  others  in  like  case. 

\Vhat  has  been  the  actually  accomplished  work  of  the  Soci- 


NELLTE    BRADY  —AGE    .. 

As  found  by  the  Society's  officers. 


184 


A  MAGNIFICENT  RECORD. 


ety  ?  During  the  sixteen  years  of  its  existence  it  has  investi- 
gated nearly  55,000  complaints,  involving  about  160,000  child- 
ren. Of  these  complaints  over  18,000  cases  have  been  prose- 
cuted ;  over  17,500  convictions  secured ;  about  30,000  children 
relieved  and  rescued;  7,500  sheltered,  fed,  and  clothed  in  its 
reception  rooms,  and  upwards  of  70,000  meals  furnished. 


v%ft 


NELLIE   BRADY. 
After  a  day  in  the  Society's  care.    Never  claimed. 

By  its  action  and  example  227  Societies  have  been  organized 
and  are  now  in  active  operation  throughout  the  world,  working 
in  unison  with  it.  It  has  framed  and  secured  the  passage  of  laws 
for  the  protection  and  preservation  of  children,  which  have 
been  copied  and  re-enacted  not  only  throughout  the  United 
States  but  in  Europe.  And  it  enforces  those  laws  by  the  pros- 
ecution of  offenders  with  a  vigor  which  has  made  it  a  terror  to 
every  cruel  brute.  Its  work  never  ceases  by  day  or  night,  dur- 
ing summer  or  winter. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MISSION  WORK  IN  TOUGH  PL  ACES  —  SEEKING  TO  SAVE  — A 
LEAF  FROM  THE  EXPERIENCE  OF  AN  ALL-NIGHT  .MISSION- 
ARY—RESCUE  WORK  IN  THE  SLUMS. 

The  Cremorne  Mission  —  A  Piteous  Cry  for  Help  — "Lock  me  up"  — Mrs. 
McAuley's  Prayer  — A  Convert  from  the  Lowest  Depths—  Flagged  Kitty, 
the  News  Girl  —  Marks  of  a  Mother's  Cruelty  —  "  Let  me  out "  —  "  I  Want 
me  Pat  "  —  Distressing  Scenes  —  "  Mashing  "  the  Baby  — Begging  for 
Shelter  and  Warmth  — An  Ail-Night  Missionary's  Story —  A  Baxter  Street 
Audience  — "Roll,  Jordan,  Roll  !"  — Story  of  Welsh  Jennie  — A  Mother's 
Love— "She  is  Dead"  — Seeking  to  Save  — A  Midnight  Tour  through 
Dens  of  Vice  and  Misery  —  Horrible  Sights  — An  Emblem  of  Purity  in  the 
Midst  of  Vice  — "It's  no  Use!  It's  no  Use!"  — "Don't  you  Know  me 
Mother?  lam  your  Jennie  "  —  Affecting  Meeting  of  a  Mother  and  her 
Erring  Daughter  —  Old  Michael's  Story  —  Fifty-three  Years  in  Prisons  — 
Taking  the  Last  Chance. 

((  IT'S  life  and  death!     Don't  stop  me!     Clear  the  way,  I 

1     tell  you,  or  there'll  be  mischief  done ! " 

Truly  it  looked  liked  it.  The  man's  face  was  flushed  to  a 
dark  red,  and  yet  was  curiously  pale  about  the  lips.  He  was 
tall  and  powerful ;  a  bullet  head  and  heavy  jaw,  and  long 
strong  arms  that  swung  like  flails  as  he  ran  wildly  down  the 
street. 

"  It's  murder,"  some  one  said,  as  with  frightened  eyes  all 
made  way  for  the  fleeing  man.  A  policeman  hastened  his  steps 
as  the  fugitive  rounded  the  corner  into  Thirty-second  Street, 
for  the  first  rush  had  been  down  Seventh  Avenue  from  one  of 
the  high  tenement-houses  not  far  away.  The  broad  doors  of 
the  Cremorne  Mission  swung  open  the  instant  the  man  reached 
them  as  if  some  one  behind  them  had  felt  the  rush  and 
answered  the  cry  of  a  need  unknown  as  yet,  but  of  the  sorest. 

"  Lock  me  up ! "  he  cried,  as  the  doors  swiftly  closed  behind 
him,  and  he  fell  limp  and  breathless  on  one  of  the  long  benches. 

(185) 


186 


A  PITEOUS   APPEAL   FOR   HELP. 


"  Lock  me  up !  You  promised  to  help  me.  Help  me  now  or 
I'm  gone.  It's  on  me,  I  tell  you.  I'm  going  mad  if  I  ain't 
helped." 


ENTRANCE   TO   THE   CREMOHNE   MISSION. 

Frank,  to  whom  this  appeal  was  addressed,  was  the  faith- 
ful man  in  charge  of  the  Cremorne  Mission  rooms,  and  was 
himself  a  convert  from  the  lowest  depths.  He  had  been  a 
drunken  sailor,  dragged  into  the  Water  Street  Mission  by  a 
friend,  and  to  his  own  intense  and  always  fresh  surprise  was 
converted  before  the  evening  ended.  The  most  secret  cranny 
of  a  drunkard's  mind  was  an  open  book  to  him.  He  knew 
every  possibility  and  phase  of  this  and  of  every  other  malady 
of  soul  that  could  possibly  be  brought  before  the  Mission,  and 
he  regarded  each  fresh  case  as  another  chance  for  him  to  bear 


A  FORMER   TERROR   OF  THE    WARD.  187 

witness  to  the  power  of  the  work  he  had  chosen  as  his  own. 
His  serious  eyes  and  firm-set  jaw  testified  to  power  enough  for 
every  emergency.  Ee  said  little,  bnt  somehow  the  worst 
cases  submitted  to  him  and  followed  his  directions  implicitly. 
He  nodded  once  or  twice  in  answer  to  the  appeal,  then  took 
the  trembling  man  by  the  arm  and  led  him  toward  the  stair- 
way at  the  back  of  the  Mission,  leading  to  a  room  above. 

"She'll  see  to  you."  he  said,  as  a  door  was  reached,  and  he 
pushed  the  shuddering  figure  before  him.  ''Stop  your  wor- 
rying air  Jesus  an'  all  of  us  will  pull  you  through." 

The  policeman  had  reached  the  door  and  put  his  head  in 
with  an  interrogative  look. 

"It's  all  right,"  called  back  Frank,  who  shut  the  door  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  shot  the  bolt.  "  It's  a  feller  with 
the  trimmins  comin'  on,  an'  he  wants  to  be  looked  out  for. 
Not  comin'  on  either.  It's  the  craze  to  get  a  drink  into  him, 
an'  the  fear  he'll  break  his  promise  an'  cave  in.  Go  'long; 
it's  all  right, — you're  not  needed  for  that  kind  o'  thing.'' 

The  fugitive,  with  as  deadly  a  terror  upon  him  as  any  who 
in  an  older  day  fled  toward  the  cities  of  refuge,  had  thrown 
himself  on  the  floor,  and  beside  him  knelt  a  woman  whose  face 
and  voice  carried  with  them  a  power  that  stilled  the  most 
turbulent  and  tempest-tossed  spirit.  He  caught  at  her  dress 
and  held  it  with  the  clutch  of  a  drowning  man. 

"  God ! "  he  said.  "  It's  the  devil's  own  fire  inside  of  me. 
You  don't  know  how  it  feels.     I'll  have  to  go." 

"  Xo  you  won't,"  said  Mrs.  McAnley  in  a  quiet  but  firm 
voice.  "  Here  comes  Frank.  Xow,  drink  this,  and  you  will 
not  mind  so  much." 

AVise  woman.  Frank  was  there  with  a  cup  of  steaming- 
hot,  strong  coffee,  made  on  the  instant,  in  his  little  office  be- 
low. He  knew  what  would  steady  the  quivering  nerves  so 
accustomed  to  the  pull  of  alcohol  upon  them  that  only  the 
strongest  substitute  would  make  any  impression.  The  patient 
was  O'Rafferty,  a  convert  of  only  a  few  months'  standing;  a 
man  Avho  had  been  the  terror  of  the  ward,  and  whose  first 
coming  into  the  Mission   had  been  to  threaten  another  man 


188 


A  SLUM   CONVERT'S  PRAYER. 


THE   READING   DESK    IN    THE    CREMORNE 
MISSION   ROOM. 


with  a  licking  for  daring  to  do  the  same  thing.  Time  and 
again  he  had  been  "  sent  up  "  to  Black  well's  Island  for  count- 
less offences  committed  in  drunken  sprees.     Every  boy  in  the 

ward  knew  his  name,  and  all 
had  watched  to  see  how  his 
new  craze  would  turn,  and  how 
long  he  would  hold  out. 
Night  after  night  he  had  risen 
in  the  old  Mission  in  Water 
Street  with  anxious  look  and 
knitted  brow. 

"Lord,  if  I  shouldn't  hold 
out,  what  a  disgrace  on  the 
Lord  Jesus  and  the  whole 
Mission,"  had  been  his  form 
of  prayer.  "Pray  for  me, 
friends,  that  I  needn't  fall  away,  for  I'll  be  like  to  cut  me 
throat  if  I  do." 

"  There'll  be  no  need  o'  anything  as  strong  as  that,"  Hag- 
gerty  once  said  with  a  little  twinkle,  in  reply  to  O'Kafferty's 
despondent  prayer.  Haggerty,  who  knew  every  phase  of 
drunkenness,  had  also  been  converted  in  the  old  Water 
Street  Mission,  and  chose  to  stay  there  and  work  in  the  same 
fashion  that  Frank  did  at  the  Cremorne.  Now  and  then  he 
called  at  the  Cremorne  to  see  his  old  friends  and  ask,  "  What 
cheer  ? "  He  had  dropped  in  that  very  morning,  and,  recog- 
nizing O'Kafferty,  he  said  with  cheery  yet  earnest  voice,  "  The 
Lord  Jesus  is  plenty  powerful  enough  to  hold  you  stiddy. 
Stop  frettin',  and  just  take  it  for  granted  you'll  be  kept 
straight.  That's  the  way  it  was  with  me.  You've  got  to 
trust,  an'  then  the  devil  can't  get  nigh  you." 

This  time  the  devil  was  nearer  than  at  any  time  since  the 
trial  began.  Frank  watched  his  excited  charge  closely  and 
knelt  down  beside  him  as  Mrs.  McAuley  prayed  for  peace  and 
deliverance  to  come  to  this  poor  tempted  soul ;  and  then  he 
led  him  to  an  upper  room  and  pointed  to  the  bed,  which  had 
held  many  another  in  like  condition. 


A   DAY    AT   THE   CREMORNE    MISSION. 


L89 


"Don't  lei  me  out  whatever  I  may  say,"  the  man  begged, 
and   Frank  nodded  encouragingly. 

"Don't  you   fret.      We're  goin'  to  pull  you   through." 
"It's  a  pretty  fair  day."  Frank  said  to  himself  as  he  closed 
the  door  behind  him  and  descended  to  the  floor  below,  where 

Mrs.  McAuley  was  facing  three  women,  one  of  them  dressed 
in  the  extreme  of  fashion,  and  with  all  the  make-up  of  an 
experienced  actress.  "Only  eleven  o'clock-,  an'  three  hard  ones 
in  already,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  McAuley.  "It'll  be  a  good  day 
I'm   thinkin'." 

"A  good  day  for  Frank  is  the  one  that  gives  him  the  mosl 
to  do,"  Mrs.  McAuley  said  to  the  women  with  a  smile.  "But 
that's  so  for  all  of  us.  Xow,  tell  me  just  what  you  want  and 
I'll  see  what  we  can  do  for  you." 

"I  want  you  to  stop  interfering  with  my  girls,"  the  painted 
woman  said.  The 
other  two  looked  at 
her  a  little  fear- 
fully. They  were 
all  of  the  same 
profession,  but  the 
speaker  was  prac- 
tically at  the  head 
in  the  house  which 
harbored  them  and 
which  had  been 
many  times  raide  i 
by  the  police.  It 
is  because  women 
here  lure  other 
women  to  destruc- 


tion,   and    no    one 


A"t.$ 


DRINKING     FOUNTAIN     ERECTED    TO    THE    MEMORY    OF 
JERRY    PAULEY   NEAR    THE    CREMORNE    MISSION. 


has    yet    found    a 

way  to  check  such 

traffic,  that  the  Water  Street  Mission  has  come  to  the  rescue 

of  a  region   supposed   to    need   such    assistance    in    far  less 

Drunken  sailors  are  fewer    here   than  in  and  about 
12 


degree 


190  A   WRETCHED   TRIO   AND   THEIR  ERRAND. 

Water  Street,  it  is  true,  but  every  other  order  of  crime  is 
represented,  the  pettier  sorts  predominating.  But  the  fearful 
life  led  by  these  women  could  not  by  any  possibility  be 
classed  under  the  head  of  petty  crimes.  Their  errand  to 
the  Mission  had  not  been  suspected.  There  was  sorrow  and 
also  deep  indignation  in  Mrs.  McAuley's  face  as  she  turned  to 
reply,  but  ere  the  words  could  be  spoken  the  woman  went  on. 

"You've  taken  away  three  of  my  best  girls  that  I  w^as 
always  a  mother  to,  and  you  may  ask  them  if  I  wasn't.  I've 
done  you  no  harm.  Let  me  and  my  house  alone,  for  there's 
plenty  in '  it  more  respectable  than  you  was  once." 

"  She's  crazy,"  said  one  of  the  other  women  apprehensively. 
"She  would  come,  but  there's  no  sense  in  such  asking.  What 
I've  come  for  is  to  find  out  about  Lena  that  you  took  in  here 
last  month.  Her  folks  have  searched  her  out  and  want  to 
take  her  back  home,  and  they  were  ashamed  to  come  here  for 
her." 

"They'll  have  to  get  over  it  then,"  said  Mrs.  McAuley 
after  a  moment's  look  at  the  crafty  face  studying  her's  as 
intently.  She  knew  the  trick.  Two  or  three  girls  who  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  Mission  had  in  the  very  beginning  of  their 
new  life  been  taken  out  on  this  plea.  "You'll  have  to  try 
some  other  way.  I'm  pretty  well  used  to  this  one,"  Mrs. 
McAuley  went  on  with  a  smile ;  and  Frank,  wTho  had  lingered 
near,  watched  the  trio  out  and  shook  his  fist  after  the  retreat- 
ing figures. 

"  God  forgive  me,"  he  said  ;  "  but  them's  the  kind  I  could 
most  strangle  with  me  own  hands  till  they  promised  to  let 
other  women  alone.  I'll  have  another  look  at  O'Eafferty  up 
stairs.  He  was  dangerous  when  he  come  in,  but  he'll  be  pulled 
through." 

At  this  moment  a  child,  impish,  skinny,  tearful,  and  ragged, 
entered  the  doorway  and  rushed  toward  Mrs.  McAuley. 

"  See,"  wTas  all  she  said  ;  but  the  black-and-blue  bruises  on 

her  lean  little  arms  told  the  story  more  powerfully  than  words. 

"  See,"  she  said  again  as  she  thrust  out  a  stockingless  leg  on 

which  Avere  more  black-and-blue  marks.     "  I  wants  to  stay  here 


BREAKING   THE   FETTERS   OF  DRINK.  101 

till  me  mother's  ou1  o'  her  drinkin'  lit.  I  sold  me  papers  good. 
All  the  boys  helps  me.  There  isn't  wan  round  the  station 
doesn't  give  me  a  chance,  an'  I'd  twinty  cints  o'  me  own.  air 
me  mother  took  it  all  for  drink,  an'  thin  basted  me  whin  I 
snatched  an'  got  back  a  penny.  I  give  Tim  the  money  for  me 
papers  to-night,  hut  what'll  I  do  if  me  mother  comes  after  it  I 
Please  let  me  stay  here  a  while." 

"Stay  and  welcome,  yon  poor  little  soul,"  said  Frank,  and 
then  made  a  rush  up  the  stairs  as  he  heard  the  sound  of  vigor- 
ous kicks  on  the  door  of  the  little  room  in  which  he  had  left 
O'Eafferty. 

k-  Easy  now  !  "  he  shouted.  "  What  arc1  yon  tip  to  in  there  I 
Easy  now  !     Easy  now* !  " 

"Let  me  out  !  For  the  love  o'  God  let  me  out."  came  back 
the  answer  with  a  roar  like  that  of  a  wild  beast.  "  I  tell  yon 
I'll  do  murder  if  Em  not  let  out.  Oh,  no.  for  the  love  o'  God 
dorCt  let  me  out." 

The  roar  changed  to  a  cry.     There  were  sobs  and  sr< 
within,  and  Frank's  own  eyes  were  not  dry. 

"  Poor  soul,"  he  answered.     "Em  here.     Ell  stay  a  hit  with 
von.   O'Earfertv.     You    shan't    be    let    sro,   to   set    into  w< 
trouble." 

He  listened  a  little.  The  sobs  lessened.  O'Eafferty  was  on 
his  knees,  praying  in  an  agony,  and  outside  the  door  Frank 
answered  him:-— "Lord  Jesns,  that  holds  up  all  them  as  is 
nigh  fallhv,  and  did  it  to  Peter  on  the  water,  hold  n])  this 
soul  and  never  let  go  till  he's  inside  the  kingdom.  Amen, 
Amen." 

Downstairs  again  he  ran.  for  another  call  had  come  from 
below  ;  a  voluble  Irishwoman,  half  drunk  and  wholly  dirty  and 
foul,  had  com--  straight  from  the  police  court,  where  she  had 
been  fined  live  dollars  after  a  night  in  the  cells. 

"I  want  me  Eat !"  she  cried,  with  maudlin  tears,  —  "me  Eat 
that  ye  tuk  from  me  an'  turned  agin  his  own  mother  that  bore 
him.  He'll  not  see  me  put  upon  and  made  the  spoort  o'  all. 
Where's  me  Pat?  Answer  me  that  now.  or  it'll  be  the  worse 
for  ye,  murtherin'  turncoats  ivery  wan  o5  ye." 


192  LITTLE   KITTY   THE   NEWS-GIRL. 

It  was  Frank's  business  to  quiet  her,  and  he  succeeded  at 
last  in  getting  her  away,  watched  by  the  little  news-girl,  who 
had  curled  down  on  one  of  the  seats  and  was  enjoying  the 
warmth  and  the  sense  of  shelter  and  protection.  Meantime  a 
woman  who  had- entered  silently  dropped  on  her  knees  and 
prayed  for  a  moment,  then  rose  and  looked  apologetically  at 
Frank. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  she  said ;  "  I'm  too  used  to  goin'  into  a 
church  to  do  me  pray  in',  not  to  miss  it  a  bit  sometimes,  an' 
this  is  nearer  church  than  anything  I  know.  Do  you  think  it's 
wicked  ? " 

"  I'll  not  be  savin',"  Frank  returned.  "  But  I  will  say  you 
mustn't  turn  your  pray  in'  into  idolatry  an'  think  it's  any  better 
than  down  on  your  knees  in  your  own  room  an'  none  to  see  nor 
hear.  Here's  this  Kitty,  the  news-girl,  again,  black-an'-blue 
from  her  mother's  beatin'.  You're  in  the  same  house  with  'em. 
Can't  you  keep  a  kind  of  an  eye  to  her  an'  save  a  rap  or  two 
maybe  ?  It's  hard  on  the  young  one,  and  she  the  bread-winner 
for  herself,  let  alone  the  little  baby  at  home." 

"  The  baby's  most  through  with  its  troubles,"  the  woman 
returned.  "  Its  mother  mashed  it  worse  last  night,  rollin'  on  it, 
and  I  doubt  but  that  she  might  be  tuk  up  for  it.  It  would  be 
a  good  thing  for  the  whole  house  if  she  was." 

Kitty  burst  into  tears  and  made  toward  the  door,  pushing 
away  Frank's  detaining  hand. 

"  It's  me  own  fault,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  might  'a'  known  me 
mother'd  mash  him.  I  wisht  she'd  mashed  me  instead  of  the 
baby.     I  want  to  get  him  an'  bring  him  here." 

The  woman  turned  with  her,  and  nodded  reassuringly 
to  Frank,  saying  as  she  passed  out,  "  I'll  have  an  eye  to  all 
of  'em." 

Their  places  were  filled  by  a  girl  whose  face  was  red  with 
weeping,  and  who,  with  one  scared  look  at  Frank,  flew  up  the 
stairs  and  almost  threw  herself  upon  Mrs.  McAuley. 

"  I  didn't  go  away  from  the  Mission  of  my  own  will," 
she  said.  "  They  Avatched  for  me,  and  Willy  was  there,  and  he 
asked  me  just  for  his  sake  to  come  and  have  dinner  with  them, 


RESCUED    FROM    A    LIFE   OF   SIN. 


L93 


^ 


Bounders  raj  vmt  er- ST:MissioN^PT- 1872 

IN-I882 

tUl5  FIRST  PP.-TlTR  WAS  GOO  BK  .SErvClFl'LTO^iE  A- 
SINN!.:  WORDS  \\ERE1T  S  ALL  RIGHT" 


and  then  —  and   then, —  You   don't    believe   me.     You   don't 
trust  me.     Oh,  what  shall  I  do?     What  will  become  of  me!" 

She  threw  herself  down  in  a  passion  of  weeping,  clenching 
her  hands  as  the  sobs  threatened  to  become  hysteric 

"Let  me  tell  you  all,"  she  cried.  "I  never  told  you  the 
whole.     If  T  do  that,  then  perhaps  you  will  believe  me." 

Let  us  leave 
her  with  Airs. 
McAuley's  ten- 
der eyes  !■ 
upon  her,  he' 
gentle  voice  bid- 
dina1  t  he  girl 
take  comfort. 
Such  story  as 
hers  cannot 
have  room  here, 
though  indeed 
it  might  well  be 
told  for  every 
girl  who  turns 
with  longing 
toward     the 

great  unknown  city,  and  pines  to  escape  from  the  irksomeness 
of  country  life.  We  cannot  even  follow  the  Mission  through 
its  dav.  From  early  morning  till  late  night  its  doors  are  open 
and  sad  souls  tell  their  tale  and  beg  for  shelter,  for  sympathy, 
for  aid,  and  not  one  of  them  goes  away  unanswered. 

The  night  mission  work  of  Mr.  H.  B.  Gibbud  among  the 
very  lowest  outcasts  in  tenement-house  districts  is  typical  of 
the  work  now  carried  on  by  the  Florence  Night  Mission.  The 
following  incident  in  his  experience  illustrates  one  phase  of  the 
work  performed  by  these  all-night  missionaries.      He  says:  — 

My  congregation  was  a  motley  crowd  assembled  in  a  small 


BRONZE  TABLET   TO    THE    MEMORY    OK   JERRY  -M'  AII.KV    ON 
TI1K    WALL   OF   THE   CREMORNE    MISSION   ROOM. 


second-story  room 
sections   of   New 


on    Baxter   Street,   in   one   of   the   lowest 
York.      The    audience    was   gathered    from 


194  A  MOTLEY  AUDIENCE. 

neighboring  alleys,  narrow  streets,  saloons,  dance-halls,  and 
dives.  Jews,  Gentiles,  olive-skinned  Italians,  and  almond-eyed 
Chinamen,  sat  side  by  side.  Sailors  were  in  the  majority. 
Dissolute  women,  both  white  and  black,  and  a  few  loafers  who 
had  found  the  corner  chilly  on  that  bitterly  cold  night,  gath- 
ered round  the  stove.  A  scattering  of  beggars  and  tramps 
sought  refuge  from  the  wintry  blast.  Several  boys  and  girls, 
attracted  by  the  singing,  helped  to  fill  the  room. 

Among  the  notables  present  was  "  London,"  the  leader  of  a 
gang  of  thieves,  whose  friendship  I  had  won  and  who  helped 
to  keep  order.  Poor  fellow,  he  was  murdered  in  front  of  the 
Tombs  prison  not  long  after.  There  was  "Lame  William," 
a  shiftless,  drunken  fellow,  who  had  helped  us  to  rescue  a  girl 
from  the  slums.  He  was  afterwards  led  to  Christ  and  became 
a  sober,  earnest  Christian  worker.  There  was  "  One-Eyed 
Tommy,"  who  was  an  expert  in  his  line  of  business,  which  was 
to  find  intoxicated  men  on  the  Bowery,  lead  them  around 
to  "  Bottle  Alley "  or  the  "  Flat  Iron,"  and  there  rob  them 
of  their  money  and  strip  them  of  their  clothes.  Business  must 
have  been  slack,  for  he  was  quite  sober  and  looked  as  pious  as 
it  was  possible  for  a  one-eyed  man  to  look. 

Among  the  female  portion  of  the  audience  was  a  small 
colored  girl  of  local  repute  as  a  fighter.  When  drunk  and  in  a 
fighting  mood  she  became  the  terror  of  the  neighborhood.  She 
had  been  nicknamed  "  Roll  Jordan "  because  of  her  fondness 
for  the  refrain  of  that  name.  When  she  was  drunk,  in  spite  of 
all  I  could  do,  she  would  sing  in  a  loud  shrill  voice, — 

"  Dar  am  no  hippercrites 

In  de  heaben  ob  my  Lor, 
Oh  how  I  longs  ter  go  ! 

Judgment,  Judgment, 
Judgment  day  am  a  rollin'  along 

Oh  how  I  longs  ter  go  !  " 

And  then  all  would  join  in  the  chorus, 

"  Roll,  Jordan,  roll, 
Roll,  Jordan,  roll, 
I  wants  ter  go  to  heaben  when  I  dies 
Ter  hear  ole  Jordan  roll." 


GOSPEL  SERVICE   IN   THE  SLUMS.  L95 

Then  there  was  the  "  Midget,"  with  innocent,  doll-like  face, 
and  others  of  Less  notoriety. 

The  room  was  well  filled,  so  I  brought  the  song  service  to  a 
close  and  was  about  to  read  the  Scripture,  when  the  discordant 
sounds  of  an  approaching  street  hand  caused  the  audience  to 
rise  en  i, hiss,  and  rush  down  the  stairs.  Leaving  me  alone  save 
one  or  two  tramps  whose  deep  slumbers  could  not  by  any 
possibility  have  been  disturbed.  It  was  a  common  occurrence 
for  niv  audience  to  Leave  without  ceremony.  A  dog-fight  or 
any  disturbance  on  the  street  would  empty  the  room  imme- 
diately. 

I  was  obliged  to  go  out  again  and  " compel  them  to  come 
in."  When  order  was  restored  I  read  thestoryof  the  Prodigal 
Son.  All  listened  quietly,  and  I  was  only  interrupted  by  the 
stertorous  snores  of  the  sleepers,  and  by  the  yells  and  cat-calls 
of  street  boys  who  persistently  hooted  at  the  door.  The  story 
was  familiar  to  many,  some* of  whom  had  Literally  Left  good 
homes,  gone  into  a  far  country,  spent  their  substance  in  riotous 
living,  and  had  arrived  at  the  pig-pen  point  of  the  journey  ; 
and  my  prayer  was  that  some  might  arise  and  come  hack  to 
their  Father. 

I  was  urging  them  to  do  this  when  a  woman  entered  and 
crouched  near  the  door.  My  attention  was  drawn  to  her  at 
once, —  she  was  such  a  wreck.  Though  not  over  twenty  she 
looked  forty.  Ragged,  dirty,  bruised,  and  bloated,  she  had 
hardly  the  semblance  of  a  woman.  I  told  for  her  benefit  the 
story  of  the  Scotch  lassie  who  had  wandered  away  from  home, 
and  of  her  return  and  welcome  by  a  loving  mother.  I  ended 
by  saying,  "There  are  those  here  to-night  who  have  a  loving 
mother  still  praying  for  them."  This  shot  at  a  venture  struck 
home.  Her  lips  quivered;  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks.  She 
was  the  first  to  come  forward  for  prayers.  She  told  me 
between  her  sobs  that  she  was  the  only  daughter  of  a  praying 
mother,  then  living  in  another  part  of  the  city.  She  had  erred 
in  the  choice  of  her  company,  and  an  elder  brother  in  anger 
laid  put  her  out  of  the  house,  threatening  to  kill  her  if  she 
returned   to    disgrace   the    family.      Driven    from    home   she 


196  a  visit  to  Jennie's  mother. 

gradually  sank  from  one  level  to  another  until  she  became  an 
outcast  on  the  street.  For  live  years  she  had  neither  seen  a 
relative  nor  heard  from  home.  I  urged  her  to  return,  but  she 
hesitated,  doubting  her  welcome.  I  promised  to  visit  her 
mother  and  plead  for  her,  and  the  girl  finally  promised  to  be 
at  the  meeting  the  next  night. 

The  next  day  I  visited  her  mother.  She  was  a  Welsh 
woman,  sixty  years  of  age,  living  on  the  top  floor  of  a  cheap 
tenement-house.  She  had  been  a  Christian  for  many  years. 
After  conversing  with  her  on  other  matters  I  cautiously  in- 
quired if  she  had  a  daughter  named  Jennie,  and  was  surprised 
when  she  calmly  answered  "  No."  I  told  her  I  had  been 
informed  that  she  had. 

"Well,  I  once  had  a  daughter  by  that  name,"  she  slowly 
said;  "but  she  is  dead." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  ? " 

"  Yes.  At  least  I  think  she  is.'  Yes,  I  am  sure  she  is.  We 
have  not  heard  from  her  in  five  years.  Then  we  heard  she 
was  dead." 

I  told  her  she  was  still  alive  and  anxious  to  return  home. 
The  mother's  love  returned.  In  great  agitation  and  with  tears 
streaming  down  her  face  she  exclaimed :  — 

"Tell  her  she  is  welcome.  Oh,  find  her  and  bring  her  to  me, 
and  all  shall  be  forgiven.  For  God's  sake  do  not  disappoint 
me.     It  will  kill  me  if  you  do." 

I  promised  to  bring  Jennie  home  without  fail.  But  that 
night  she  was  not  at  the  meeting.  In  vain  I  searched  all  the 
haunts  of  vice  in  the  neighborhood,  but  found  no  trace  of  her. 

In  one  of  the  saloons  I  met  an  acquaintance, — a  young 
prize-fighter.  He  had  drifted  into  the  mission  room  one  night 
and  had  disturbed  the  meeting  so  much  that  in  sheer  despera- 
tion I  suddenly  seized  him  by  the  collar  and  bounced  him 
through  the  door  with  such  quick  despatch  that  it  had  won  his 
profound  admiration  and  warm  friendship.  I  told  him  the 
object  of  my  search.  He  said  that  Jennie  was  probably  in  some 
stale-beer  "dive,"  adding  that  stale-beer  dives  were  under- 
ground cellars  or  small  rooms  kept  by  Italians,  where  liquor 


\    MIDNIGHT   TOUR   THROUGH    THE   SUMS.  197 

was  sold  at  one  cent  per  pint,  and  where  the  most  degraded 
wretches  of  both  sexes  often  gathered  for  a  night's  lodging  for 
which  they  paid  two  or  three  cents  each. 

Ee  volunteered  to  pilot  me  and  help  to  search  for  her.     It 
was  near  midnight, and  the  thought  of  venturing  into  such  dens 


A  TENEMENT-HOUSE   BACKYARD    IN    HIK    ITALIAN    QUARTER. 


was  not  pleasant.     But  the  promise  to  Jennie's  mother  decided 
me,  and  I  said,  "Lead  on,  I'll  follow." 

"Well,  mishener  (missionary),"  he  said,  as  we  went  along, 
"I  ain't  much  stuck  on  religion.  Yer  see  I  didn't  have  no 
mother  to  religious  me  an'  I  sruess  that's  the  reason.      But  I'd 


198  IN  DARKEST  NEW  YORK. 

help  any  one  out  of  them  dives.  I  ain't  religious  like,  yer 
understand  ?  Yer  can't  be  religious  an'  fight,  can  yer  %  Well, 
that's  how  I  makes  my  eat.  ]STo  fight,  no  eat,  see?  So  its 
either  eat  or  religion,  an'  as  I  takes  naterally  to  eat  an'  don't 
to  religion,  I  eats  an'  fights  an'  fights  an'  eats.  See?  I  may 
reform  some  day  an'  git  religion.  I  hain't  got  nothin'  agin  it 
nohow." 

We  walked  rapidly  through  a  narrow  dark  street;  then 
turned  into  a  long  alleyway  leading  into  an  area  or  back  yard, 
in  which  stood  a  typical  rear  tenement-house.  We  entered  and 
climbed  up  the  rickety  stairs.  My  guide  unceremoniously 
pushed  open  a  door,  and  we  found  ourselves  in  a  room  dimly 
lighted  by  a  peddler's  lamp.  The  English  language  cannot 
describe  the  scene  before  us.  The  room  was  crowded  with  men 
and  women  of  the  most  degraded  type.  Misery,  rags,  filth,  and 
vermin  were  on  every  side,  and  above  all  arose  a  stench  so  ut- 
terly vile  that,  the  nostrils  once  assailed,  it  could  never  be  forgot- 
ten. All  were  more  or  less  intoxicated  and  stared  idiotically  at 
us.  A  quick  survey  was  all  I  could  stand ;  the  stench  and  sights 
were  so  horrible  I  beat  a  hasty  retreat  and  was  about  to  return 
to  the  street,  when  the  fighter  informed  me  that  there  were  six 
other  places  of  like  character  in  that  one  house.  He  then  led 
me  downstairs  into  an  underground  room,  the  floor  of  which 
was  bare  ground ;  the  walls  were  covered  with  green  slime,  and 
water  was  dripping  from  the  ceiling.  Yet  crowded  into  this 
hole  and  huddled  together  were  fifteen  men  and  women. 

As  we  entered,  some  one  shouted,  "What's  wanted?"  "A 
girl  named  Jinny,"  said  the  fighter.  As  he  said  this  a  young 
girl  started  up,  but  was  knocked  back  by  a  big  ruffian  who 
rushed  forward,  cursing  fearfully  and  asking  "What's  wanted 
with  the  girl?"  As  he  advanced  in  a  threatening  manner  and 
seemed  about  to  annihilate  me,  I  felt  like  withdrawing.  But 
when  he  had  nearly  reached  us  the  fighter  struck  out,  knocking 
the  brute  over  several  others  into  the  corner,  where  he  lay  rub- 
bing his  head.  The  fighter,  satisfying  himself  that  Jenny  was 
not  there,  quietly  withdrew. 

"We  visited  several  other  places,  and  finally  one  worse  than 


old  rosa's  den.  190 

all,  kepi  by  an  Italian  hag  named  Rosa.  We  entered  a  hall 
and  stumbled  over  several  sleepers  who  lay  on  the  floor  too 
drunk  to  notice  our  stepping  on  them.  Propped  up  on  either 
side  along  the  walls  were  men  and  women  dead  drunk  or  last 
asleep.  A  dim  light  shone  through  the  alley  and  into  the  hall 
from  the  street  lamp,  and  by  crouching  down  we  soon  ascer- 
tained that  Jennie  was  not  there.  "  We  will  go  into  this  room 
if  we  kin  git  in/'  said  my  guide  as  he  hanged  away  at  a  door 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  hall.  "  Yer  see  de  old  gal,  when  dey 
gits  full  an' can't  set  up  an'  spend  money,  chucks  'em  out  into 
de  hall  an'  pulls  de  knob  of  de  door  in  so  (icy  can't  git  back 
agin." 

Sure  enough  the  knob  was  in,  and  it  took  several  vigorous 
raps  to  get  a  response  from  within.  At  last  the  door  was 
cautiously  opened  by  old  Rosa,  and  the  lighter  pushed  his 
way  in. 

The  place  was  crowded.  Our  advent  caused  a  flutter  and 
muttered  comment  among  those  sober  enough  to  notice  us. 
Some  tried  to  escape,  taking  us  for  detectives.  Others  said, 
"  It's  the  Doctor,  don't  be  afraid."  1  had  a  kind  word  for 
them  all;  the  fighter,  too,  reassured  them,  and  confidence  was 
in  a  measure  restored.  "While  he  was  searching  for  Jennie,  I 
looked  around. 

The  room  was  filled  with  the  hardest,  filthiest  set  of  men 
and  women  I  had  ever  seen.  Many  were  nearly  naked. 
Bloated  faces  were  cut  and  swollen,  and  eyes  blackened,  while 
on  the  neck,  hands,  and  other  exposed  parts  of  the  body  could 
be  seen  on  many,  great  festering  sores.  Vermin  large  enough 
to  be  seen  with  the  naked  eye  abounded. 

Boards  placed  on  the  top  of  beer-kegs  made  seats.  Under 
these,  piled  in  like  sacks  of  salt,  were  those  who  had  become 
too  drunk  to  sit  up.  Others  occupied  the  seats  and  dangled 
their  feet  in  the  faces  of  those  underneath,  often  stepping  with 
drunken  tread  on  some  upturned  face.  In  one  corner  of  the 
room  was  a  bed  made  from  dry-goods  boxes,  covered  with  an 
old  mattress  and  rags.  On  this  were  lying  two  little  Italian 
children.      Their  innocent    faces   were  in    strong   contrast   to 


200 


AN  ITALIAN   PEST  HOLE. 


those  of  -the  bloated,  blear-eyed  crowd.  On  the  mantelpiece  a 
candle  burned,  shedding  a  ghastly  light  on  the  awful  scene. 
On  the  foul  wall  hung  a  picture  of  St.  Koco,  who,  Eosa  the 
dive  keeper  said,  was  "  a  gooda  saint  in  Eetally." 


— 

m  11 


mrsau 


v.v 


ITALIAN   GAKBAGE    WOMEN   ON   MULliEiUtY   STliEET. 


The  plaster  had  fallen  from  the  walls  in  several  places,  and 
the  lathing  had  been  removed  to  be  used  for  fuel.  This  gave 
the  room  a  skeleton-like  appearance.  An  old  stove  set  out 
from  the  fireplace  was  red  hot.  A  man  lying  on  a  bench  in 
front  of  it  turned  over,  and  in  his  drunken  sleep  threw  his  leg, 
which  was  bare,  right  on  the  stove.     My  attention  was  called 


A.WFUL  BCENES    !JY    NIC  I  IT.  201 

that  wav  by  the  smell  of  burning  flesh.  The  poor  wretch  was 
too  drunk  to  notice  it.     I   pushed  hi  .  bu    qoI  til!  it  had 

been  badly  burned. 

In  the  fireplace  behind  the  stove  four  or  five  men  had  been 

thrown   in  a  heap  to  -;  their  intoxication.      In   a   small 

cupboard  two  men  wire  crowded.  In  one  corner,  near  the 
ceiling,  was  a  coop  containing  a   r  d  a  hen,  who  were 

eking  out  a  miserable  existence.  In  a  small  birdcage,  a  white 
dove,  the  emblem  of  purity,  looked  down  upon  all  that  was  im- 
pure. On  the  floor  were  piles  of  ra  the  ash- 
barrels  of  the  street.  T  Lg  f rom  these  was  sick- 
ening. Some  of  t;,  s  had  been  washed  and  hung  on 
lines  ae  m,  and  v  II  dripping.  A.s  the  fighter 
bent  ov<  .  the  drops  fell  on  his  neck  and 
for  a  moment  took  a  wav  all  the  religi             ling  he  hud. 

[  entered  in1  with  the  Her  face  was 

wrinkled,  and  her  pi  ads. 

She  looked  the  very  and  laid  shown  \wv 

temper  by  S  full   i:i   the   , 

with  a  bunch  of  keys,  j  Rosa's  knowle 

of  English  was  limited  ;  but  sh  to  und  srstand  that 

her  husband  w*  picka  de  rag,  my  sonna  I  de  harpa,  makea 

muse,"  while   Ian'  daughto  :f  sella 

banan."     The  one  aim  of  th  rich  and  go 

backa  to  Eetally." 

In  the  mean  time  the  fighter  had  been  pulling  out  sleepers 
from  under  t^e  g  s.     A.  last,crouch- 

ing  in  a  corner  among  the  filth,  was  the  child  of  many 

prayers.  Aroused  from  lie-  stupor  I  found  the  spirit  of  the 
previous  evening  had  fled.  In  vain  I  pleaded  with  her  to  re- 
turn home,  and  earnestly  spoke  of  her  gray-haired  mother  so 
anxiously  waiting  her  return,  willing  to  forgive  all.  But  she 
would  not  go,  making  the  ea  tat  "she  laid  no  shoes,"  hers 

having  been  stolen  whil  ■  went   out  and 

soon  returned  with  an  old  worn-out  pair  he  hail  begged,  bor- 
rowed, or  stolen.  Still  fused  to  go.  A  policeman  who 
had  meantime  stepped  in  to  see  what  was  going  on  and  had 


202  jennie's  terrible  plight. 

listened  to  my  appeal  now  joined  us  in  urging  her  to  go  home. 
He  said,  "  You  had  better  go ;  you  know  if  you  stay  around 
here  likely  as  not  I'll  be  ordering  the  dead-wagon  for  you,  and 
you'll  be  carted  off  and  dumped  in  the  Morgue  and  buried  in 
Potters'  Field."  This  had  no  effect.  Finally,  losing  patience, 
he  gave  her  a  poke  with  his  club,  saying,  "Get  out  o'  here. 
You've  got  a  good  chance.  If  you  don't  take  it  I'll  club  the 
life  out  o'  you  if  I  ever  catch  you  on  my  beat  again." 

Once  on  the  street  she  became  more  tractable  but  more  de- 
spondent, saying,  "  It's  no  use  ;  it's  no  use." 

The  fighter,  who  had  become  intensely  interested,  ex- 
claimed :  "  What  yer  want  to  do  is  to  brace  up  an'  go  home  an' 
do  de  straight  thing.  Don't  give  in.  You'll  get  along.  Don't 
it  say,  mishener,  that  de  Lord  will  percure  ?  I  ain't  religious 
much  meself,  but  I  think  it  does.  For  when  I  was  a  doin'  ten 
days  on  de  island  a  lady  gave  me  a  track  that  said  something 
like  that  on  it." 

At  length,  though  very  reluctantly,  she  consented  to  go 
with  us.  She  was  in  a  terrible  plight,  being  half  naked  and 
covered  with  filth.  We  took  her  to  the  house  of  a  Christian 
woman  who  gave  her  a  bath,  combed  her  matted  hair,  and  gave 
her  clothing.  Then  we  started  for  her  home,  reaching  there 
about  three  o'clock.  All  was  dark,  but  we  groped  our  way  to 
the  top  of  the  house,  to  her  mother's  door.  The  poor  woman, 
worn  out  with  watching,  had  fallen  asleep,  but  woke  at  our 
rap.  She  told  us  to  go  into  the  front  room.  We  did  so.  Jen- 
nie had  been  weeping  silently,  but  now^,  as  the  old  familiar 
pictures  on  the  wall  became  visible  by  the  dim  light  of  the 
candle,  she  began  to  sob  aloud.  The  mother  entered  with  a 
lamp  in  her  hand.  She  gave  one  glance  at  the  girl,  then 
quickly  stepped  back,  nearly  dropping  the  lamp.  "  That  is  not 
my  daughter,"  she  wildly  cried.  "  You  have  made  a  mistake. 
No,  no,  that  is  not  my  Jennie.  It  ban't  be."  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  sank  to  the  floor  beneath  the  bur- 
den of  her  grief.  "  Yes,  mother,  it  is  your  Jennie,  your  poor, 
lost  Jennie.  Don't  you  know  me  ?  There's  Willie's  picture,  and 
that's  Charlie's,"  she  said,  pointing  to  some  photographs  on  the 


RE-UNITED    AT    LAST.  503 

Avail.  "1  am  vour  Jennie.  Oh,  forgive  me,  mother,  forgive 
me."  With  thiscrv  for  pardon  she  fell  sobbing  al  hermother's 
feet. 

I  became  interested  in  a  picture  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room.  When  I  turned  again,  mother  and  daughter  sat  side  by 
side  on  the  sofa,  the  black  tresses  of  the  daughter  resting  on  the 
silver  white  locks  of  the  mother,  and  tears  were  rolling  down 
both  faces.  After  a  prayer  we  left.  The  fighter  said,  as  we 
reached  the  street,  u  Two  closes  of  this  kind  of  biz  would  fix 
me  sure.  I'd  have  to  git  religion  if  I  starved.  I  think  if  I  did 
I'd  be  one  of  them  what  do  yer  call  'em,  — Eve-angelists  \     I'd 

hold    meet  ins  in  de  te-a-ters  an'  git  in  all  de  boys  and 

toughs  like  me.  See?  I  might  jine  yer  yit.  Anyhow  I  hain't 
got  nothin'  agin  yer.     Good  night." 

The4  call  next  day  at  Jennie's  home  was  one  of  many 
plensnnt  visits  that  finally  led  her  to  Jesus,  and  both  mother 
and  daughter  joined  a  little  church  just  started,  and  became 
followers  and  workers  for  the  "  Mighty  to  save." 


Over  on  the  east  side,  on  Third  Avenue,  near  Thirty- 
second  Street,  is  another  Mission,  known  simply  as  the  Madi- 
son Square  Mission,  supported  by  a  fashionable  church  on 
Madison  Square.  It  is  under  the  direction  of  a  former  popu- 
lar evangelist,  who  after  her  marriage  to  Mr.  Ballou  —  himself 
a  reformed  drunkard  —  came  to  Xew  York  for  this  Mission. 
Mrs.  Ballou  had  at  one  time  worked  among  the  sailors  on  the 
docks,  and  her  knowledge  of  human  nature  is  of  the  same 
keen,  sympathetic  order  as  was  Jerry  McAuley's.  Third  Av- 
enue has  taken  on  many  of  the  characteristics  of  the  Bowery; 
and  this  Mission,  though  not  open  at  all  times  like  the  others. 
does  very  efficient  work  in  reclaiming  drunkards.  Naturally 
much  the  same  scenes  are  enacted  at  their  meetings.  There  is 
perhaps  more  formality,  but  no  less  earnestness,  and  the  east 
side  knows  the  name  of  the  Ballous  hardly  less  wel]  than  the 
west  side  does  that  of  McAuley.  All  of  these  Missions  deal 
with  the  poor,  the  sinful,  and  the  struggling  on  the  same 
basis.     They  may  tell   their  story   as  they  will,  and  to   the 


204  DAILY   STRUGGLES  AND   TEMPTATIONS. 

wretched  this  is  much.  They  know  little  or  nothing  of  So- 
cieties. The  fact  that  real  help  and  sympathy  may  be  had 
here  is  passed  by  word  of  mouth  from  one  to  another  of  these 
poor  souls,  and  the  news  quickly  goes  that  in  all  these  places 
or  at  Michael  Dunn's  one  may  tell  the  worst  and  never  receive 
a  slight  or  a  scoff. 

"That's  the  place  where  one  never  seems  to  know  but 
what  he's  as  good  as  the  best,"  said  a  forlorn  man  in  my 
hearing  as  I  turned  one  day  toward  the  Third  Avenue  Mission. 
He  had  been  drinking,  and  had  pawned  all  that  could  well  be 
pawned,  and  he  stood  there  now,  shivering  and  pondering  as 
to  what  he  should  say  for  himself  when  he  faced  the  man  and 
woman  who  had  over  and  over  again  befriended  him.  But  he 
presently  shuffled  toward  the  door  of  the  Mission  and  went 
shame-facedly  in,  bent  upon  once  more  trying  how  far  he  could 
keep  the  promise  so  often  broken. 

How  many  of  the  same  type  and  of  every  grade  below 
pause  before  the  doors  of  these  Missions,  where  a  welcome 
greeting  awaits  all  alike.  IsTow  and  then  a  comrade  lures 
away  a  former  cron}^  to  his  old  haunts,  who  but  for  this 
would  have  found  safe  refuge  in  one  or  another  of  these 
Mission  harbors,  whose  lights  may  be  seen  at  many  points 
here  in  this  quarter  of  the  city.  But  the  men  who  go  in  and  out 
number  many  hundreds  a  year,  and  for  most  of  them  reforma- 
tion is  not  a  delusion.  To  one  who  sees  the  poverty  and 
struggle  of  their  daily  lives,  and  adds  to  this  the  temptation 
they  must  continually  fight  and  which  is  stronger  almost  than 
they,  the  miracle  is  that  any  remain  steadfast.  That  they  do 
not  oftener  fall  away  is  a  tribute  to  the  strength  of  the  influ- 
ences thrown  around  them  and  to  the  depth  of  their  convic- 
tion. 

At  old  Michael  Dunn's  one  could  hear  even  sadder  stories, 
if  that  were  possible,  than  at  the  other  Missions.  Until  he  re- 
moved to  another  city  Michael  had  a  little  Mission  nearly 
opposite  Jerry  McAuley's  old  one  on  Water  Street,  and  there 
he  took  in  all  who  wanted  to  come,  and  as  many  more  as  he 
could  coax  into  trying  another  type  of  life.     He  chose  to  turn 


OLD   MICHAEL   DUNNS  STORY,  205 

an  honest  penny  after  spending  fifty-three  years  of  his  life  in 
prisons  all  over  the  world.     Other  Missions  show  a  very  Large 

percentage  of  drunken  cases  and  a  small  one  of  crime.  But  at 
Michael's  it  was  always  the  latter  though  often  it  was  drink- 
that  had  brought  crime  in  its  train.  So  many  were  young, 
boys  almost,  who  had  been  "sent  up"  for  short  terms,  and  so 
obtained  their  first  knowledge  of  a  trade,  of  regular  meals  com- 
posed of  decent  food,  and  of  clean  and  wholesome  quarters, 
while  serving  a  criminal  term.  But  the  coming-  out  of  prison 
found  them  in  as  hard  a  place  as  when  they  went  in.  They 
were  often  better  men  than  when  they  entered  it ;  but  the  con- 
vict stamp  was  on  them,  and  all  men  eyed  them  doubtfully, 
save  the  old  set  in  the  familiar  saloons  and  bucketshops.  It 
was  here  that  Michael  Dunn  came  in.  He  carried  a  tender 
heart  for  just  such  cases.  He  persuaded  them  to  try  life  with 
him  for  a  little  time,  and  found  some  employment  where  they 
would  not  constantly  be  reminded  of  what  they  had  been.  It 
cannot  be  denied  that  Michael  was  sometimes  disappointed  and 
that  his  apparently  most  promising  converts  at  times  relapsed 
suddenly  into  their  old  life  and  went  up  for  another  sentence. 
But  there  is  many  a  man  to-day  earning  an  honest  wage  and 
living  the  life  of  a  good  citizen,  who  .owes  any  possibility  of 
such  life  to  the  faith  shown  in  him  by  Michael  Dunn,  and  by 
other  men  of  Water  Street  who,  like  him,  have  had  a  bitter  ex- 
perience and  left  it  far  behind  them. 

"Tell  us  how  it  was,  Michael,"  his  "boys"  would  say, 
respectfully,  as  he  sat  among  them,  his  silver-bowed  spectacles 
pushed  back,  and  looking  benignantly  from  one  to  another. 

"  It  takes  all  me  two  minutes  o'  time,"  he  made  answer.  "  to 
tell  the  prisons  I've  been  in.  Why  not.  when  I  was  trained 
regularly  to  steal?  Me  an' me  grandmother,  an'  me  aunt  an' 
me  brother,  every  one  of  us  was  in  together  for  thievin',  an'  it 
come  natural  as  breathin'.  Thirty-live  years  I've  spent  in 
prisons  in  Sydney  air  Australia,  an'  many  a  year  in  prisons  in 
this  country,  fifty-three  years  in  all.  I  knew  Jerry  McAuley 
well  when  he  was  a  thief,  an'  one  day  1  come  in  to  his  old 
Mission  when  I  was  just  out  after  three  year  in.     *  You're  about 

13 


206 


A   SOLEMN   WARNING. 


at  the  end  o'  your  tether,  Michael  Dunn,'  says  he.  '  Yes,  you 
are.  You've  got  brains  an'  you've  used  them  for  naught,  since 
God  give  'em  to  you,  but  to  do  rascality  an'  teach  the  same  to 
others.  It's  time  now  to  turn  round  an'  see  if  you  can't  undo 
some  o'  your  wicked  work.  Do  you  like  it  ?  Do  you  want  to 
keep  on  servin'  terms  till  you  go  up  to  your  last  Judge  ?     I  be- 

^  lieve  you  can 


STATION   HOUSE   PRISON    CELLS. 


be  an  honest 

man   an'   a 

Spf    happy  one  if 

j£    you  will.' 

mm! 

m          "Hooked 

1     h    ! 

ml    ; 

B    at   him   kind 
1    o'  dazed  like. 

m  i  y^'h* 

Me  —  honest 

rrr^vVr 

and     happy ! 
Me—thsbt 

HTfi  VF 

1    had     never 

i  :  ■■  I'.j  j  \' 

H  had  wife  nor 

I  home     n  or 

naught      but 

from  hand  to 

■  ',.'.'.  \  ;'v"-: 

'         mouth,  in  the 

,  >v     ,-•;.. 

few     months 

I'd    be'    out! 

I  laughed, 
but  it  wasn't  a  very  cheerful  laugh,  an'  Jerry  says,  stern-like 
as  ever  I  heard :  '  Michael  Dunn,  itfs  your  last  chance.  Come 
here  to-night,  an'  see  what  you  think  o'  what  goes  on  in  this 
place.' 

"  Well  I  come  to  the  Mission  that  night.  I  was  that  sick 
an'  sore  inside  I  Avas  ready  for  anything,  an'  when  the  door 
opened  an'  I  heard  'em  a-singin', — 

"  '  For  weary  feet  remains  a  street, 
Of  wondrous  pave  and  golden,'  — 

"  I  says  to  myself,  says  I,  '  I  want  to  walk  it  some  time,  an'  if 
there's  any  way  o'  learnin'  how,  I'll  stay  here  till  I  find  out.' 


Michael's  last  \\  ish. 

I  was  that  hard-hearted  that  it  did  seem  as  it'  I  never  should, 
but  it  wasn't  a  week  afore  I  knew  that  I  was  goin'  to  be  iei 
to  try  for  it.  I  know  now,  if  /can  be  happy  an'  hard  at  work 
niakin'  up  for  all  the  deviltry  I  was  ap  to  in  the  old  days,  that 
there  ain't  a  man  that  can't  do  the  same,  an'  so  I  lay  for  every 
one  of  you  boys,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  lay  tor  you  Long  as  I  live. 
You  do  the  same,  hoys,  an'  between  us  we'll  make  over  the 
Ward  an5  get  things  all  our  own  way.  There  won't  he  many 
saloons  when  we're  through,  an'  not  a  tenement-house  any- 
wheres in  sight,  to  breed  more  o'  the  sort  we  were,  an'  that's  a 
big  enough  job  to  work  for  as  long  as  there's  strength  for  work 
or  thinMn'  how  to  get  even  with  the  devil.  An'  that's  Michael 
Dunn's  first  wish  an'  his  last/' 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  SLUMS  BY  XIGHT  — THE  UXDER-WORLD  OF  NEW  YORK  — 
LIFE  AXD  SCENES  IX  DEXS  OF  INFAMY  AXD  CRIME  — XIGHT 
REFUGES  FOR  WOMEX  —  FAST  LIFE  —  CHRISTIAX  WORK 
AMONG  OUTCASTS. 

A  Xoeturnal  Population  —  Dens  of  Infamy  —  Gilded  Palaces  of  Sin  —  The 
Open  Door  to  Ruin  —  AYorst  Phases  of  Xight  Life  —  Barred  Doors  and 
Sliding  Panels  —  Mysterious  Disappearances  —  The  Bowery  by  Xight  — 
Free-and-Easys  and  Dime  Museums  —  A  Region  of  the  Deepest  Poverty 
and  Vice  —  Vice  the  First  Product,  Death  the  Second  —  Xests  of  Crime  — 
The  Sleeping  Places  of  New  York's  Outcasts — Lowering  Brows  and  Evil 
Eyes  —  The  Foxes,  Wolves,  and  Owls  of  Humanity  —  Thieves  and  Xook- 
and-Corner  Men  —  Women  with  Bent  Heads  and  Despairing  Eyes — One 
More  Victim  —  Xight  Tramps  —  A  Class  that  Xever  Goes  to  Bed  —  The 
Beautiful  Side  of  Womanhood  —  Girls'  Lodging-Houses — Homes  for  the 
Homeless —  Gratitude  of  Saved  Women — The  Work  of  the  Xight  Refuges 

SUXSET  has  come,  diffusing  mellow  light  over  the  beautiful 
harbor  and  the  fair  islands  of  Xew  York  bay.  Xowhere 
is  the  soft  twilight  more  enchanting.  By  five  o'clock  the  great 
warehouses  along  the  river  front,  and  the  office  buildings  and 
stores  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  begin  to  empty  themselves, 
and  merchants,  brokers,  lawyers,  and  clerks  stream  up  town  to 
their  homes,  or  to  the  substitutes  for  them  found  in  boarding- 
houses.  The  heavy  iron  shutters  are  lowered.  Office-boys  skip 
away  with  such  alertness  as  is  left  in  their  tired  little  legs. 
Weary  porters  straighten  boxes  and  strive  to  bring  order  out 
of  the  day's  confusion.  Presently  the  night  watchman  comes 
in,  and,  save  for  the  rush  of  the  elevated  trains,  lower  New 
York,  silent  and  forsaken,  rests  in  quiet  till  morning  once  more 
brings  the  stir  and  roar  of  traffic  and  the  anxious  or  eager  or 
preoccupied  faces  of  the  men  who  are  rulers  in  the  business 
world. 

They  have  come  from  homes  where  also  quiet  has  reigned ; 

(308) 


THE   UNDER-WORLD  OF  NEW    YORK. 

from  long]      s  of  broi  11  y 

mono!         -  S  dinner 

Sl    .  it  v  at    hom<  Ltfa   a   fr:  g    at 

tre  or  ■  live  lives  which 

ad  a  nii:. 
is  there  I  sk.    Editors 

a  few  errat:  5  who  turn  nighl 

coora  _     erned  by  ry  laws,  bnt  tl 

minority.     The  majority  go  1  .  y. 

This  is  the  conviction   of  1        -        3  who 

have  not  the  faintest  t        _  day- 

tight  chiefly  as  a  nam*-.  _  ir  day  ji        a  table 

citizens  are  lying  down  to  rest     As  try  is  !':• 

irn  is  this  under-world  from  _     " 

u>  the  -  _   I      aly  when  night  -  ben  within  a 

-hrowof  the  empty 
:     saken  street-  ts  seen. 

But  the  sum  of  horror  that  rid  is 

by  no  means  to  these  regions.     In  th<  ty-ninth 

Precinct  alone  —  and  this    -  >n  of  the  city  — 

there  are  over  one  hundred  and  thirl  -  .  andw: 

blocks  where  pandemonium  reigns. 
lifts  its  little  light  in  this       _       .  bnt  wl 

_   inst  such  odds  i     There  are  nearly  six  hundred  of  tfa  - 
dens  of  iniquity  for  the  city  as  a  wL 

e  flaunts  itself  openly  in  many  an  nnsns 
There  is  the  night  side  of  life  for  the  rich, 
for  the  pauper,  and  it  is  these  1 

Hard  v.  _  -       man,  young 

or  old.  who  has  hard  day's  work,  hi  - 

dpation.      The  gambling-hells   i  ity   and   tl 

of  wickedness  I         i  bound  on  *■ 

o'clock  on.  with  men  wl  ich  life  is  utterly 

unknown  by  those  nearest  and  d  the  roll 

called  and  each  compelled  to  ans  would  be  found  that  it 

included  stockb:  from  Wall  Street,  g  ters, 

chants,  and  represent  y  wealthy  class   in   the 


210  NIGHT  LIFE  IN  PALACES  OF  SIN. 

city.  The  men  who  form  this  army  go  unscathed,  so  far 
as  this  world's  judgment  is  concerned.  The  women  end  often 
in  Water  Street,  or  in  a  cellar,  or  in  the  ward  of  a  charity  hos- 
pital, and  they  sometimes  seek  a  final  refuge  in  the  dark  waters 
of  the  East  or  North  Rivers. 

Their  places  are  quickly  filled.  There  are  no  questions 
asked  in  this  life,  where  all  that  is  demanded  is  that  pleasure 
shall  not  be  mingled  with  troublesome  reflections.  For  the 
silent  player  in  the  splendid  gambling-houses  on  Broadway,  and 
for  the  sharer  in  the  sports  of  the  innumerable  dance-houses  of 
Sixth  Avenue,  which  pour  out  their  patrons  into  saloons 
or  cheap  oyster-houses  at  one  or  two  o'clock  of  the  morning, 
there  is  one  and  the  same  purpose.  Paris  at  its  worst  has  been 
the  model  for  these  forms  of  life,  not  only  for  New  York,  but 
for  London,  which  also  copies  Paris,  and  whose  night  life  is  as 
full  of  shame  and  horror  as  our  own. 

Perhaps  the  worst  phase  of  night  life,  or  ranking  high 
among  its  worst,  is  the  secrecy  and  insidiousness  in  which 
it  works.  For  the  most  part  "  gambling-hells  "  hide  behind  a 
cover  of  respectability,  and  quiet  houses  in  side  streets 
opening  from  Broadway  may  be  thronged  all  night,  yet  give 
no  token  of  the  business  that  is  carried  on  in  them  save  the  de- 
serted appearance  by  day,  —  the  absence  of  any  sign  of  fam- 
ily life. 

There  is  ample  reason  for  this.  The  statutes  of  the  State 
of  New  York  impose  heavy  penalties  on  convicted  gamblers, 
yet  in  no  other  place  east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  is  gaming 
so  universal.  Gambling-houses  flourish  in  spite  of  rigid  laAvs, 
and  there  are  said  to  be  over  two  thousand  professional 
gamblers  in  New  York  who  are  known  to  the  police.  Their 
business  begins  when  daylight  has  fled.  Iniquity  thrives  in 
darkness. 

They  are  men  of  all  orders,  so  far  as  methods  are  concerned. 
Some  of  the  so-called  first-class  houses  adjoin  the  most  fashion- 
able hotels,  are  superbly  furnished  and  decorated,  and  often 
contain  the  choicest  works  of  art  in  painting,  sculpture,  and 
bronzes.     The  most  perfect  service  —  usually  by  colored  wait- 


>\i>  CLASS  GAMBLING   t)J  vfl  1 

crs,  choioe  wines,  and  elaborate  nightly  suppers  under  the 
charge  of  famous  chefs,  are  ready  for  all  who  visit  these  inia- 
mous  establishments,  that  sooner  or  later  lures  to  ruin  all  who 
enter  their  doors. 

The  second-class  houses  also  flourish  at  night,  and  they  are 
far  more  dangerous  than  the  first  mentioned,  for  their  visitors 
are  generally  strangers  in  the  city,  who  have  been  "roped  in" 
by  agents  of  the  gambling-house.  Here  everything  belonging 
to  gaming  is  openly  displayed,  hut  with  every  precaution. 
Doors  are  barred;  sliding  panels  in  them  allow  of  inspection  of 
the  visitor  before  he  is  admitted,  and  everything  adds  to 
the  sense  of  mystery  which  to  the  country  lad  is  half  of  the 
pleasure  and  charm. 

The  majority  of  persons  present  in  these  houses  are  in 
league  with  the  proprietors,  and  if  the  loser  complains  or 
shows  fight  when  trickery  is  suspected  or  discovered,  he  risks 
not  only  his  money  hut  his  life.  "Mysterious  disappearances," 
so  common  in  the  record  of  the  city's  life,  are  often  traced 
hack  to  these  houses,  and  no  man  is  safe  who  ventures  in 
side  their  walls. 

Policy-dealing  belongs  under  the  same  head,  though  a 
degree  lower  in  infamy.  All  sorts  and  conditions  of  men 
engage  in  this:  black  and  white,  rich  and  poor.  Superstition 
as  to  lucky  numbers  abounds  in  a  marvelous  degree,  and 
thousands  of  copies  of  a  "dream-book"  are  annually  sold  to 
patrons  of  these  dens.  Often  the  unhappy  victim  loses  mind 
as  well  as  money,  and  the  lunatic  asylums  contain  many 
patients  brought  there  through  the  passion  for  gambling  in 
this  manner. 

N«>t  only  the  excitement  of  the  game,  but  the  picturesque- 
ness  which  is  part  of  it.  increase  the  temptation.  On  the  Wot 
Side  there  is  an  attempt  to  disguise  the  real  character  of  the 
better  order  of  resort.  On  the  East,  the  exact  reverse  is  true, 
and  all  that  light,  warmth,  and  color  can  do  to  enchance  the 
attraction  of  the  dens  is  done  to  the  utmost. 

The  Bowery  is  the  main  artery  of  night  life  on  the  East 
Side.     At  night  it  is  a  blaze  of  light  from  one  end  to  the  other. 


212  A  REGION  OF   VICE. 

It  is  a  center  for  saloons  of  every  order,  from  gin-palaces  to 
bucket-shops ;  theatres,  concert-halls,  "  free-and-easys,"  and 
dime  museums  abound,  all  of  them  profusely  ornamented  with 
every  device  of  colored  light.  The  lamps  of  street  vendors 
who  throng  here  add  to  the  general  brightness,  while  the 
lowest  dives  have  gay  transparencies  of  every  hue.  In  and 
out  of.  these  resorts  pours  a  constant  crowd.  Shouts  of  laugh- 
ter come  from  within,  mingled  with  the  sound  of  orchestra  or 
the  jingle  of  cheap  pianos.  The  German  music-halls  have 
respectable  audiences.  The  rest  are  tilled  with  young  men 
and  boys,  and  girls  barely  out  of  their  teens.  The  shooting 
galleries  are  no  less  crowded,  brilliantly  lighted,  and  often 
open  to  the  sidewalk,  gaudily  painted  figures  serving  as  tar- 
gets, and  every  inducement  being  offered  the  passer-by  to  try 
his  skill.  An  air  of  briskness  and  general  enjoyment  sur- 
rounds all  these  places,  that  is  wonderfully  seductive  to  the 
boy  or  girl  fresh  from  the  lonely  country  life.  They  take  no 
note  of  anything  but.  the  bewildering  excitement  and  interest 
of  this  gay  life  with  all  its  light  and  color;  and  though  this 
moving  throng  shows  many  a  man  and  woman  in  every  stage 
of  intoxication,  —  often  in  the  clutch  of  a  policeman  hurrying 
on  to  the  station-house,  —  but  faint  impression  is  made. 

From  Chatham  Square  one  turns  off  to  the  net-work  of 
streets  where  crime  lurks  through  the  day  to  walk  unabashed 
at  night.  The  whole  region  is  given  over  to  the  deepest 
poverty,  and  thus  to  its  necessary  and  inseparable  adjunct, 
vice.  When  in  a  space  of  thirty  acres — and  this  is  Avhat  the 
Fourth  Ward  contains — seventeen  thousand  people  are  housed, 
vice  is  the  first  product  and  death  the  second.  There  are 
spots  in  London  which  are  historical  for  their  overcrowding, — 
Whitechapel,  St.  Giles,  Holborn,  Southwark;  but  they  are 
matched  by  the  Fourth,  Sixth,  Eleventh,  Fourteenth,  and 
Seventeenth  "Wards  in  New  York.  In  one  room  in  one  of 
these  nests  of  crime  fourteen  people  live,  and  at  night,  after 
the  usual  debauch  is  ended,  take  their  share  of  the  floor  for 
such  rest  as  it  may  afford.  Small  wonder  that  they  haunt  the 
streets  or  look  with  lowering  brows  on  the  passer-by. 


Moll  T    TK  \M1'S    AND    "  >Vl  TEHS." 

For  many  there  is  not  even  the  floor.     The  night  tramp  of 

the  lowest  order  knows  that  he  is  one  of  an  army  made  up  of 
men  and  women  too  lazy  to  work,  and  picking  up  a  living  as 
they  can.  During  the  day  they  beg  at  doors,  steal,  or  commit 
large  robberies,  and  are  a  terror  and  a  nuisance  to  all  who 
face  them.  In  the  summer  the  Parks  furnish  them  a  sleeping- 
place.  The  benches  are  tilled  with  sitters  who  learn  to  sleep 
sitting,  and  so  evade  the  police,  who  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for 
them.  (  M'ten  they  crawl  under  the  shrubbery,  especially  in  Cen- 
tral Park.  If  they  have  enough  money  they  goto  the  cheap 
lodging-houses,  the  number  of  which  is  constantly  increasing, 
and  where  a  bed  can  be  had  for  five  or  ten  cents  a  night.  In 
one  of  them,  lodging,  food,  and  bath  are  given  in  return  for 
so  much  time  spent  in  sawing,  splitting,  and  bundling  kindling- 
wood,  but  this  house  is  not  popular  save  with  the  few  who 
are  willing  to  work. 

Such  as  these  form  one  army,  and  an  unfailing  source  of 
supply  to  city  prisons  and  reformatories.  There  is  yet  another 
multitude  tending  toward  the  same  life  and  destined  to  meet 
the  same  fate  unless  taken  in  time.  —  the  fifteen  thousand 
neglected  and  homeless  children  who  last  year  were  running 
wild  in  the  city  streets,  and  whose  numbers  do  not  lessen.  As 
one  explores  this  region  at  night  where  crowding  begins,  one 
chief  wonder  is  the  swarm  of  children  everywhere.  At  first  it 
it  is  taken  for  granted  that  they  have  homes.  It  is  not  till  one 
sees  them  curled  up  on  doorsteps,  tucked  away  in  old  barrels 
and  empty  packing-boxes,  sleeping  in  coal  cellars  under  the 
sidewalk,  lying  in  any  and  every  sheltered  spot,  that  one  begins 
to  realize  that  there  is  no  softer  pillow  for  them.  Shoeless,  hat- 
less,  homeless,  these  children,  if  arranged  in  double  lines,  would 
make  a  procession  eleven  miles  long.  Pale,  hunger-bitten,  dis- 
eased, experienced  in  every  wickedness,  the  natural  enemies  of 
society,  they  are  the  seed  which  will  ripen  into  fruit  for  prisons 
or  end  in  hospitals  or  asylums.  Last  comes  the  Potter's  Field, 
the  rough  box.  the  portion  of  a  grave,  nameless  and  unknown. 
The  night  side  of  a  great  city  is  no  less  the  night  side  of  life, 
and  this  under-world  would  appall  even  the  man  Dante,  whose 


214 


STREET   OUTCASTS  AND  VILLAINS. 


journey  lay  through  hell,  and  whose  "  Inferno"  holds  no  more 
terrible  picture  than  those  to  be  encountered  at  a  hundred 
points  in  a  single  night  among  the  outcasts  who  call  the  streets 
their  home. 

In  all  this  region  there  is  a  blaze  of  light  till  long  after  mid- 
night. Troops  of  wayfarers  come  and  go,  and  the  many  bars 
do  a  thriving  business.     Then  one  by  one  lights  dwindle  and 


HOMELESS    DOYS    SLEEPING    IX    A    COAL    CELLAR    UNDER    THE    SIDEWALK. 

go  out,  and  the  foxes,  wolves,  and  owls  of  humanity  come  forth 
and  watch  for  their  prey.  From  South  Ferry  up  toward  the 
Old  Slip  they  lurk  at  corners,  vigilant  and  silent,  taking  ac- 
count of  every  passer-by,  and  robbing  if  a  favorable  moment 
comes.  Thieves,  smugglers,  "  nook-and-corner "  men  are  seen 
for  a  moment  and  then  vanish  as  swiftly  as  they  came.  Women 
are  there,  too,  —  some  singing,  or  laughing  a  laugh  with  no 
merriment  in  it ;  but  for  the  most  part  they,  too,  are  silent. 
Now  and  then  one  who  has  walked  with  bent  head  and  despair- 
ing eyes  makes  a  sudden  resolve ;  there  is  a  swift,  flying  rush 
toward  the  dark  water  beyond,  and  the  river  closes  over  one 
more  victim.     Such  a  sight  is  a  familiar  fact  to  the  policemen 


ALONG   THE   RIVER   FRONT.  215 

of  this  quarter,  who  have  more  than  once  caught  the  desperate 
creatures  as  they  lied,  mid  found  for  them  shelter  and  in  the 
end  a  chance  of  something  better. 

Along  the  river  front  a  forest  of  masts  and  rigging  can  be 

dimly  seen  rising-  above  one's  head,  but  for  the  most  part  dark- 
ness broods  over  the  hulls  of  the  vessels,  affording  every  chance 
for  river  thieves  to  ply  their  trade.  Opposite  the  docks  are 
rows  of  old  houses,  their  dormer  windows  telling  to  what  era 
they  belong.  The  dead  and  gone  owners  looked  across  to  the 
green  fields  of  Brooklyn,  and  went  to  bed  peacefully  at  nine 
o'clock.  Their  successors  haunt  the  docks  and  are  of  every 
order  of  evil,  never  going  to  bed  at  all  — in  any  orthodox  sense 
of  the  phrase. 

All  along  this  water  side  is  one  of  the  most  curious  features 
of  night  life  in  New  York, — the  sidewalk  restaurants.  Just 
beyond  them  fruit  ships  are  unloading,  and  many  eager  street 
vendors  flit  about  the  docks  in  search  of  damaged  fruit  for  the 
next  day's  track1.  Worker,  longshoreman,  thief,  — it  is  all  one 
to  the  restaurant  keeper,  who  pours  his  hot  coffee  with  no  ques- 
tions, and  only  looks  sharply  at  each  piece  of  money  as  he  rings 
it  on  the  little  counter.  These  places  are  not  over  five  feet 
wide,  and  some  ten  or  twelve1  long,  and  are  enclosed  with  glass 
and  boards.  There  is  a  shelf  or  counter  at  which  half  a  dozen 
can  sit  at  once,  and  on  the  opposite  side  are  boilers,  a  range,  a 
small  desk,  and  some  shelves  for  crockery.  Codfish  balls,  hash, 
coffee,  cakes  and  pies,  are  all  the  bill  of  fare  affords, — the 
cakes,  known  as  "sinkers,"  being  a  species  of  muffin,  rudiment- 
ary in  character,  but  in  high  favor.  Xo  one  is  turned  away, 
and  sailors,  negro  longshoremen,  marketmen,  and  stray  women, 
come  and  go,  and  fare  alike. 

Yonder  is  a  little  Italian  eating-house  no  one  would  think  of 
calling  a  restaurant.  It  is  down  in  a  cellar,  and,  as  if  to  hide  it 
more,  the  steps,  old  and  broken,  go  down  side  wise  along  the 
front  wall.  The  room  is  lit  by  a  smoky  kerosene  lamp.  A 
little  bar  is  in  one  corner,  and  narrow,  wooden  benches,  black 
with  use,  run  around  the  walls  and  are  fastened  to  them. 
Here  five  cents  will  buy  a  plate  of  maccaroni,  a  bit  of  toast, 


216  A  STREET   GIRL'S  END. 

and  a  cup  of  coffee.  It  was  in  this  clingy  basement  that  a 
woman  of  about  thirty  drifted  only  the  other  day.  She  was 
a  comely  woman,  with  regular  features  and  dark  hair.  A 
thin  shawl  was  drawn  over  her  shoulders;  her  dress  was 
ragged  and  worn,  her  face  deathly  pale.  She  had  no  money, 
and  when  she  faintly  begged  for  food  a  swarthy  Italian  paid 
five  cents  for  the  coffee  and  a  crust  of  bread  that  were  served 
to  her. 

She  drank  the  coffee,  and  thrust  the  crust  into  her  pocket. 
She  would  have  gone  then,  but  she  was  trembling  with  weak- 
ness and  the  man  who  paid  for  her  food  held  her  back.  She 
sat  silent  and  thoughtful  on  the  narrow  bench  until  long  after 
nightfall.  Then  she  drew  the  crust  from  her  pocket  and  began 
to  nibble  it. 

"Let  me  warm  the  bread  for  you,"  said  the  keeper's 
little  boy.  He  put  it  on  the  stove,  warmed  it,  and  brought  it 
back  to  the  woman,  who  suddenly  gasped,  and  died. 

The  police  propped  her  up  on  the  bench,  and  all  night  long 
her  lifeless  body  waited  for  removal  in  the  dead  wagon  to 
the  Morgue.  In  her  pocket  was  found  the  remnant  of  the 
crust,  and  a  copy  of  these  verses  printed  on  red  paper  : 

On  the  street,  on  the  street, 
To  and  fro  with  weary  feet  ; 
Aching  heart  and  aching  head  ; 
Homeless,  lacking  daily  bread  ; 
Lost  to  friends,  and  joy,  and  name, 
Sold  to  sorrow,  sin,  and  shame  ; 
Ruined,  wretched,  lone,  forlorn  ; 
Weak  and  wan,  with  weary  feet, 
Still  I  wander  on  the  street ! 

On  the  street,  on  the  street, 
Midnight  finds  my  straying  feet ; 
Hark  the  sound  of  pealing  bells, 
Oh,  the  tales  their  music  tells  ! 
Happy  hours  forever  gone  ; 
Happy  childhood,  peaceful  home  — 
Then  a  mother  on  me  smiled, 
Then  a  father  owned  his  child  — 
Vanish,  mocking  visions  sweet  ! 
Still  I  wander  on  the  street. 


RAYS  OF   LIGHT   IX    DARK    PLA<  E8.  817 

On  the  Btreet,  on  the  street. 
Whither  tend  my  wandering  feel  ? 

Love  and   hope  and  joy  are  dead  — 
Not  a  place  to  lay   my  head  ; 
Every  door  againsl  me  sealed  — 
Hospital  and   Potter's  Field. 
These  stand  open!  —  wider  yet 
Swings  perdition's  yawning  gate, 
Thither  tend  my  wandering  feet, 
On  the  street,   on  the  street. 

On  the  street,  on  the  street ; 
Might  I  here  a  Saviour  meet! 
From  the  blessed  far  oil'  years. 
Comes  the  story  of  her  tears, 
Whose  sad  heart  with  sorrow  broke, 
Heard  the  words  of   love  He  spoke. 
Heard  Him  bid  her  anguish  cease. 
Heard  Him  whisper,  "Go  in  peace!" 
Oh,  that  I  might  kiss  I  lis  feet, 
On  the  street,   on  the  street. 

Of  the  dens  of  crimes  hiding  in  the  narrow  streets  opening 
up  from  the  river  the  police  have  intimate  knowledge.  We 
leave  them  behind  as  once  more  the  little  light  of  the  Water 
Street  Mission  comes  in  sight.  In  the  midst  of  dark  and 
bloody  ground  its  rays  shine  forth,  and  behind  tin:  Mission 
doors — open  day  and  night  alike  —  is  the  chief  hope  that 
illumines  the  night  side  of  New  York. 

It  is  to  the  Children's  Aid  Society  that  New  York  owes 
the  first  thought  of  protection  and  care  for  homeless  girls, 
whose  condition  till  girls'  lodging-houses  were  opened  was  in 
many  points  far  worse  than  that  of  boys.  Actual  hardships 
were  perhaps  no  greater,  but  the  very  fact  of  sex  made  their 
position  a  more  critical  one,  while  it  doubled  and  trebled  the 
difficulties  of  the  work  to  be  done. 

Years  ago  Mr.  Brace,  whose  faith  was  of  the  largest,  and 
whose  energy  never  flagged,  wrote  of  them  :  — 

"I  can  truly  say  that  no  class  we  have  ever  labored  for 
seemed  to  combine  so  many  elements  of  human  misfortune,  and 
to  present  so  many  discouraging  features  as  this.  They  form, 
indeed,  a  class  by  themselves.     .     .     .     It  is  no  exaggeration 


218  TEMPTATIONS   OF   CITY   LIFE. 

to  say  that  the  Girls'  Lodging-House  has  cost  us  more  trouble 
than  all  o*ur  other  enterprises  together." 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  this  form  of  philanthropy  is  a  vital 
one,  needed  at  every  point  in  the  United  States  where  masses 
come  together,  it  is  quite  worth  while  to  note  the  nature  of  the 
difficulties  encountered.  They  arise  in  the  beginning  from  the 
nature  of  the  material  itself. 

Take  a  hundred  girls  who  may  either  apply  for  admission 
or  be  brought  by  some  friend  to  one  of  the  various  Homes  now 
open.  Some  have  come  from  the  country,  from  quiet  respect- 
able homes,  drawn  to  the  city  as  by  a  magnet,  and  certain  that 
it  holds  plenty  of  work  and  good  pay.  Seeking  this  work, 
which  most  often  eludes  them,  the  scanty  sums  they  may  have 
brought  with  them  dwindle  away,  till  at  last  they  may  find 
themselves  on  the  street,  with  their  choice  between  the  brightly 
lighted  house  of  vice  and  the  forbidding  police-station. 

This  is  one  order,  and  a  common  one.  No  less  common  is 
the  giddy  class  which  has  sought  amusement  in  the  city  and 
has  finally  been  induced  to  enter  a  house  of  bad  character  as  a 
boarding-house,  and  so  been  entrapped,  to  break  loose  at  last 
and  take  shelter  even  in  prison  if  necessary.  In  other  cases 
the  ill  treatment  of  a  bad  stepmother  or  father  has  driven  girls 
from  home,  or  drunkenness  has  made  it  hideous  and  any  refuge 
welcome.  Many  are  orphans;  many  the  children  of  misfor- 
tune ;  and  among  the  throng  are  those  of  all  races  and  coun- 
tries. 

The  first  and  worst  effect  of  their  life  is  the  fact  that  they 
do  not  like  steady  labor ;  that  their  habits  are  utterly  irregular ; 
that  nothing  has  been  thoroughly  learned ;  and  that  they  have 
no  shred  of  discipline.  They  do  not  know  the  meaning  of  neat- 
ness, their  clothes  are  neglected,  and  if  they  earn  a  dollar  or 
two  it  goes  in  some  foolish  expenditure.  This  is  not  the  worst. 
From  babyhood  they  have  been  lied  to  and  betrayed,  and  they 
lie  and  betray  in  return,  with  no  more  sense  of  responsibility 
than  kittens. 

Here  comes  in  the  most  difficult  phase  of  the  work  that  is 
intended  to  benefit  them.     They  are  often  pretty  and  bright, 


HOMELESS  GIRLS'    LODGING    HOUSES.  210 

lmt  they  are  absolutely  superficial.  Their  virtues  and  vices 
alike  are  of  the  surface.  They  repenl  al  our  minute  only  to 
sin  in  the  next,  and  they  do  each  with  equal  alacrity. 

"They  seem  to  be  children,"  said  Mr.  Brace,  "but  with 
woman's  passion  and  woman's  jealousy  and  scathing  tongue. 
They  trust  a  superior  as  a  child;  they  ueglecl  themselves,  and 
injure  body  and  mind  as  a  child  mighl  ;  they  have  a  child's 
generosity,  and  occasional  freshness  of  impulse  and  desire  of 
purity;  but  their  passions  sweep  over  them  with  the  force  of 
maturity;  and  their  temper  and  power  of  setting  persons  by 
the  ears,  and  backbiting,  and  occasional  intensity  of  hate,  be- 
long to  a  later  period  of  life.  Xot  unfrequently,  when  real 
danger  or  severe  sickness  arouses  them,  they  show  the  wonder- 
ful qualities  of  womanhood  in  a  power  of  sacrifice  which  utterly 
ignores  self,  and  a  love  which  shines  brightly  even  through  the 
shadow  of  death." 

These  words  Avere  true  not  only  of  homeless  girls  made 
vicious  through  no  fault  of  their  own.  but  in  many  respects  of 
those  who  wished  to  earn  an  honest  living  but  had  no  training 
or  discipline  that  fitted  them  for  anything  but  the  most  poorly 
paid  branches  of  labor.  It  was  evident  that  something  must 
be  done  toward  giving  a  training,  and  plans  were  at  once  made. 

When  the  Girls'  Lodging-IIouse  on  St.  Mark's  Place  was 
opened,  there  was  in  all  the  great  city  but  one  spot  where  they 
could  take  shelter,  and  this  was  Mr.  Pease's  Five  Points  Mis- 
sion. This  chiefly  held  vicious  women  who  wished  to  reform, 
and  was  tlms  quite  unsuitable  for  those  who  were  simply  home- 
less and  unprotected.  A  sifting  process  was  necessary  ;  but 
never  was  work  more  hedged  about  with  difficulties. 

The  news  spread  that  a  Home  for  the  homeless  was  ready, 
and  a  forlorn  procession  streamed  toward  it.  In  the  first 
weeks  the  police  brought  in  wretched  young  wanderers  to 
whom  lodging  had  been  given  in  the  station-houses,  country 
girls  who  had  lost  their  money,  and  all  the  different  orders 
already  referred  to;  while  from  houses  of  vice  girls  who  had 
been  entrapped  broke  away  and  came  hither,  leaving  behind 
them  every  article  of  dress  save  what  they  had  on. 


220  FIRST   LESSONS   IN  A   NEW   LIFE. 

The  attempt  to  discriminate  and  to  prevent  the  Home  from 
becoming  a  Magdalen  Asylum  involved  everybody  concerned  in 
endless  difficulties.  Girls  who  weepingly  told  quite  plausible 
and  coherent  stories  of  early  bereavement  and  their  longing  to 
learn  and  be  helped  turned  out  to  be  the  most  ingenious  of 
romancers,  and  often  evil  beyond  reclaiming.  "They  would 
deceive  the  very  elect "  was  the  verdict  of  the  experienced  and 
long-suffering  Matron,  and  often  when,  for  the  sake  of  all  con- 
cerned, she  had  refused  to  admit  a  girl  whose  breath  and  look 
both  told  her  life  and  habits,  the  rejected  applicant  went  to  the 
nearest  station-house  and  told  a  fearful  tale  of  the  heartlessness 
and  barbarity  of  institutions  and  the  shameful  hypocrisy  of 
this  one  in  particular. . 

Little  by  little,  with  infinite  patience,  order  began  to  emerge 
from  this  chaos.  The  first  thing  was  to  teach  each  one  the 
necessity  of  personal  cleanliness.  Order  and  rigid  punctuality, 
of  which  they  knew  nothing,  came  next,  and  then  early  rising 
and  going  to  bed  at  a  reasonable  hour.  Of  household  work 
they  knew  nothing,  and  lessons  in  this  began  at  the  foundation. 
Scrubbing  and  cleaning  came  first ;  then  bed-making,  and  last, 
plain  cooking,  sewing,  and  machine  work.  The  majority  went 
out  to  Avork  in  shops  or  factories,  but  many  had  to  be  employed 
in  housework  and  so  paid  for  their  support. 

Far  sooner  than  could  be  believed  these  girls  carried  on  the 
work  of  a  large  establishment,  and  in  addition  made  thousands 
of  garments  for  the  many  children  in  charge  of  the  Children's 
Aid  Society  at  other  points.  Eeligious  and  moral  instruction 
were  of  course  a  part  of  the  teaching  from  the  beginning. 
Amusements  were  planned,  and  festivals  of  many  orders,  and 
though  often  a  girl  upon  whom  much  labor  had  been  expended 
chose  a  return  to  her  old  life,  the  great  majority  regarded  the 
efforts  made  for  them  Avith  deep  gratitude,  and  their  improve- 
ment astonished  every  Avorker  among  them. 

This  is  the  story  for  every  Home  in  the  city,  though  none 
are  of  quite  the  same  order  as  the  old  one  on  St.  Mark's  Place. 
In  all  of  them  the  aim  is  to  make  the  price  of  board  barely 
cover  expenses,  and  thus  a  taint  of  charity  attaches,  and  the 


SOME   OF   THE   APPLICANTS.  221 

girls  refuse  to  enter  them.  Everything  depends  upon  the  type 
of  matron,  and  whether  she  lias  strong  sympathies  as  well  as 
strong  common  sense.  Without  both,  work  among  working- 
girls  can  never  be  anything  but  failure. 

The  old  house  on  St.  Mark's  Place  is  now  known  as 
the  "  Girls'  Temporary  Home,"  and  has  added  many  industries 
to  its  list.  The  demand  for  instruction  on  the  sewing-machine 
had  steadily  lessened,  and  it  was  decided  a  few  years  ago  to 
add  typewriting  as  a  substitute.  Only  the  better  educated 
among  the  girls  could  take  this,  but  thirty-six  studied  in  the 
first  year,  ten  of  them  at  once  finding  good  employment. 
A  large  laundry  employs  many,  and  a  dressmaking  department 
is  equally  useful.  Numbers  of  girls  are  not  adapted  to  any 
other  work,  but  are  trained  and  steadied  by  this,  and  often  the 
most  unmanageable  seem  to  find  their  vocation  here.  A 
few  are  sent  to  the  West,  and  in  new  surroundings  look  back 
to  the  Home  as  the  beginning  of  good  fortune. 

Review  the  work  of  one  day  and  the  applicants  at  such 
a  Home,  and  one  will  see  what  elements  of  tragedy,  of  pathos, 
and  of  perplexity  enter  in.  In  early  morning  came  a  woman 
bringing  with  her  her  young  daughter  and  niece.  They  had 
just  been  put  out  by  the  landlord  after  pawning  everything  but 
the  clothes  they  wore.  The  girls  had  lost  health  standing  be- 
hind the  counter,  and  the  mother  wanted  them  to  learn  house- 
work. All  were  detailed  to  places  in  the  house  where  training 
would  be  given,  and  later  found  good  homes. 

Close  upon  them  followed  a  pretty  girl  of  eighteen,  who 
had  come  to  America  from  England  as  a  frolic,  not  realizing 
how  far  it  was.  She  had  been  in  the  country  two  years. 
taking  a  place  as  nurse,  but  came  to  New  York  to  see  what  it 
was  like,  bringing  no  references  from  her  Boston  place.  She 
cried  with  longing  to  go  home,  but  had  no  money,  and  was 
taken  in  till  something  could  be  found  for  her  to  do.  As 
she  talked,  two  sisters  rushed  in,  children  of  twelve  and  four- 
teen, driven  out  by  a  drunken  mother,  and  following  them 
a  pale  girl  just  out  of  hospital.  Then  came  a  girl  who  had 
gone  two  days   without   food   to   save   money  enough   for  a 

14 


222  ROMANCES   OF   THE   HOME. 

night's  lodging,  and  who  cried  for  joy  when  she  found  she 
could  pay  her  way  by  work.  Sometimes  little  children  are 
brought,  though  there  is  really  no  room  for  them,  and  applica- 
tion is  made  by  many  parents  whose  daughters  are  idle  and  in- 
corrigible at  home  and  may  mend  here.  Every  phase  of  want 
and  sorrow  makes  itself  known  in  this  room  where  the  gentle 
Matron  sits  and  listens,  and  nowhere  is  there  more  instant 
response  or  more  effectual  help. 

The  Home  has  its  romances  too.  There  is  now  a  fore- 
woman in  a  prominent  Broadway  store  who  was  brought  to 
the  Home  long  ago  by  a  kind-hearted  expressman,  dripping 
with  rain  and  with  only  a  few  rags  to  cover  her.  She  had  big, 
candid  blue  eyes,  and  cheeks  like  an  apple-blossom,  and  her 
prettiness  was  so  enticing,  her  attachments  so  sincere,  and  her 
whole  manner  so  gentle  and  modest,  that  for  many  weeks 
no  one  suspected  her  as  the  author  of  innumerable  petty  thefts. 
She  found  employment  in  a  cigar  factory  and  began  at  once  to 
make  showy  presents,  supposably  out  of  her  earnings.  At  last 
she  confessed  voluntarily  that  she  had  picked  the  pockets  of  the 
very  people  to  whom  she  gave  presents,  and  that  she  did  it  be- 
cause she  wanted  to  appear  smart  and  generous.  From  the 
hour  the  confession  was  made  there  was  no  further  trouble, 
and  in  her  present  responsible  position,  for  which  she  fitted 
herself  in  evening  school,  she  is  trusted  absolutely  and  has 
never  disappointed  the  confidence  reposed  in  her. 

"  Pretty  Polly  P.,"  driven  out  by  a  drunken  mother,  came 
to  the  Home  as  ragged  and  forlorn  as  the  last-mentioned  child. 
Carefully  trained  in  the  house,  she  found  a  situation  in  Con- 
necticut and  lived  there  till  eighteen,  always  prettier  and 
prettier,  where  presently  she  married  a  young  Southern  gentle- 
man of  good  family,  whom  she  had  nursed  in  illness  and  who 
knew  all  her  story.  They  took  rooms  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel,  and  from  here  pretty  Polly  went  to  the  Home  loaded 
with  gifts  for  all ;  nor  has  she  ever  lost  interest  in  the  inmates, 
though  she  has  for  years  been  a  rich  and  fashionable  woman. 

One  little  waif  —  one  of  the  most  troublesome  ever  received 
— was  found  after  a  year  or  two  to  be  the  grandchild  of  an  old 


UNJUST  DISCRIMINATION.  823 

pair  who  had  long  sought  some  trace  of  the  daughter  who  bad 
left  them  years  before.  Their  joy  at  finding  the  child  knew  no 
bounds,  and  she  was  at  once  placed  in  school  and  carefully 
trained.  She,  too,  remembers  the  Home,  and  sends  many 
a  gift  to  those  who  lead  less  fortunate  lives.  The  stories  are  as 
endless  as  the  numbers  who  come  and  go,  many  thousand 
having  been  trained  and  helped  since  the  opening  in  lv<;i. 

The  Night  Refuges  ask  no  questions,  but  take  in  whoever 
applies.  The  number  of  such  refuges  is  far  below  the  need, 
each  place  being  crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity.  Long  experi- 
ence has  taught  their  managers  the  best  methods  of  dealing 
with  those  who  apply,  and  they  have  done  much  to  do  away 
with  the  popular  belief  that  it  is  useless  to  work  for  girls.  The 
chief  interest  still  centers  on  boys,  who  have  treble  the  amount 
of  effort  expended  upon  them;  but  each  year  sees  a  more 
common-sense  view  of  tilings,  and  in  time  as  fair  a  chance  will 
be  given  to  the  woman  child  as  to  the  man. 


CHAPTER  X. 

NIGHT  MISSION  WORK  — NEW  YORK  STREETS  AFTER  DARK  — 
RESCUE  WORK  AMONG  THE  FALLEN  AND  DEPRAVED  — 
SEARCHING  FOR  THE  LOST  — AN  ALL-NIGHT  MISSIONARY'S 
EXPERIENCE. 

The  "Bloody  Sixth  Ward"  —  Hoodlums  —  The  Florence  Night  Mission  — 
Where  the  Inmates  Come  from  —  A  Refuge  for  Fallen  Women  — 
Searching  for  Lost  Daughters  —  Low  Concert  Halls  —  Country  Boys 
Who  "Come  in  Just  to  See"  —  A  Brand  Plucked  from  the  Burning  — 
Old  Rosa's  Den  of  Villainy — In  the  Midst  of  Vice  and  Degradation  — 
Rescue  Work  Among   the   Fallen  —  Accordeon  Mary — "Sing!  Sing!" 

—  Gospel  Service  in  a  Stale-Beer  Dive  —  The  Fruits  of  One  False  Step 

—  Scenes  in  Low  Dance-Halls  and  Vile  Resorts  —  Painted  Wrecks  —  An 
All-Night  Missionary's  Experience  —  Saving  a  Despised  Magdalen  —  A 
Perilous  Moment  —  The  Story  of  Nellie  Conroy  —  Rescued  from  the 
Lowest  Depths  of  Sin  —  Nine  Years  in  the  Slums  —  The  Christian  End 
of  a  Misspent  Life  —  Nearing  the  River  —  Nellie's  Death  —  Who  Was 
E M ?  —  Twenty -four  Years  a  Tramp  —  Last  Words. 

THOUGH  the  old  Fourth  Ward,  of  which  Water  Street  was 
once  the  symbol  and  summary,  is  still  counted  as  the  worst 
in  New  York,  yet  there  is  small  choice  between  that  and 
the  "  Bloody  Sixth  "  Ward,  named  long  ago  in  the  days  of  the 
notorious  "Bowery  Bhoys."  That  once  name  of  terror  has 
given  place  to  a  type  far  beyond  it  in  evil,  —  the  "  Hoodlum," 
born  most  often  of  Irish  parents  and  knowing  liberty  only  as 
the  extremity  of  license.  Even  fifty  years  ago  the  trees  still 
grew  all  the  way  up  from  Water  Street  out  into  Chatham 
Square  and  on  through  the  old  street,  and  the  generation  before 
that  knew  it  as  a  region  of  gardens  and  thickets  and  orchards. 
For  years  the  remnant  of  one  of  old  Peter  Stuyvesant's  pear- 
trees  offered  its  blossoms  and  fruit  to  the  passer-by,  till  a 
memorial  shoot  was  transplanted  to  a  more  congenial  spot,  and 
the  old  tree  which  had  known  the  very  beginning  of  things  for 

(224) 


WHERE  SIN'S   RECRUITS  COMB   FROM. 

the  Bowery  fell  under  the  axe,  and  was  snatched  by  the  relic- 
maker  to  reappear  in  innumerable  walking-sticks. 

Till  Bond  or  Bleecker  Streel   is  reached,  and  even  beyond 
these  once  fashionable  precincts,  the  streets  thai  open  on  either 

side  represent  as  motley  a  crowd  as  the  sun  shines  upon. 
Every  nation  is  there ;  every  form  of  trade  and  general  indus- 
try; and  every  token  of  the  oppression  which  pertains  to  the 

"sweating"  system,  has  chosen  this  region  as  its  own.  At 
night,  myriads  of  tobacco-workers  pour  out  from  the  swarming 
tenement-houses,  chiefly  cigar-makers  who  manufacture  in  their 
filthy  homes.  Great  factories  for  underwear  are  there,  with 
the  flock  of  women  and  girls  who  are  employed  in  them,  while 
every  house  has  its  contingent  of  sewing-women  whose  machines 
run  on  jumpers,  overalls,  and  all  the  forms  of  stitching  given 
over  to  unskilled  labor. 

The  sewing-women  and  shop-girls  form  but  a  small  part  of 
the  throng  moving  through  the  Bowery  after  nightfall,  tilling 
the  theatres,  the  dime  museums,  the  low  concert-halls,  and  all 
the  forms  of  cheap  entertainment  that  flourish  in  this  region. 
Nor  is  it  from  this  class  that  the  Florence  Night  Mission  on 
Bleecker  Street,  from  whose  windows  one  sees  the  moving 
throng,  is  filled.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  these  women,  who 
have  reached  almost  the  lowest  depth  of  want  and  see  no  out- 
look beyond,  are  singularly  free  from  the  tendencies  that  drive 
more  fortunate  ones  to  the  streets.  So  far  as  the  record  books 
of  both  the  Florence  and  the  Midnight  Mission  bear  testimony, 
both  give  the  largest  percentage  of  recruits  as  belonging  to 
the  class  of  domestic  servants,  though  every  order  is  repre- 
sented. For  nearly  all  of  them  the  inevitable  end  is  in  store, 
from  bad  to  worse,  always  and  steadily  downward,  till  at  the 
last  the  painted,  hideous  faces  looking  out  from  the  dens  of 
Water  or  Cherry  Street  have  lost  all  resemblance  to  woman 
save  in  form. 

In  the  region  around  Bleecker  Street  is  a  less  hopeless  type, 
and  here  in  18S3  was  founded  the  Florence  Night  Mission, 
which  has  done  some  of  the  most  efficient  work  accomplished 
in  this  direction.     It  is  a  monument,  this  old  house,  once  the 


226 


STARTING   THE   FLORENCE   NIGHT   MISSION. 


quiet  home  of  people  who  knew  the  street  in  its  best  days. 
The  man  whose  money  provides  this  refuge  for  women  and 
makes  Mission  work  possible  in  this  locality  gives  it  in  memory 
of  the  little  child  whose  name  it  bears,  and  the  four  brief  years 


A  FAMILIAR   SCENE   IN   WATER   STREET. 


of  the  little  life  could  hardly  ask  more  abiding  memorial. 
Inside  the  chapel  of  the  Mission  her  sweet  face  looks  down  on 
the  motley  crowd  who  every  night,  from  eight  to  eleven,  fill 
the  room,  and  the  innocent  eyes  of  little  Florence  Crittenton 
gaze  upon  sights  that  living  they  could  hardly  have  known. 

The  father,  a  prosperous  business  man,  who,  like  many  New 
Yorkers,  had  never  looked  into  these  regions,  and  knew 
tenement-houses  only  by  name,  went  in  one  day  to  a  daily 


a   TOUCHING   l.w  11  'ATION. 

prayer  meeting  where  a  stranger  rose  and  described  a  Mission 
which  had  recently  been  began  on  Baxter  Street  by  himself  and 
Mr.  Henry  B.  Gibbud.  Mr.  Crittenton  listened,  was  interested, 
went  with  the  speaker,  Mr.  Smith  Allen,  saw  for  the  first  time 

the  degradation  and  horror  of  the  life,  and  later  visits  deepened 
the  impression  made  upon  him.  When  the  baby  he  idolized 
was  taken  from  him,  there  seemed  no  interest  in  life  so  strong 
as  this  one  of  offering  redemption  to  the  class  of  men  and 
women  who  filled  the  slums  and  dives  of  this  part  of  the  city. 
The  house  at  29  Bleecker  Street  was  chosen;  the  two  rooms  of 
the  lower  part  were  thrown  into  one  for  a  meeting-room,  and 
the  upper  part  fitted  up  with  beds,  while  the  lower  served  as 
kitchen  and  dining-room.  Mr.  Allen  was  engaged  as  the 
all-night  missionary,  a  matron  was  put  in  charge,  and  a  super- 
intendent of  home  work  appointed. 

It  was  in  April,  1883,  that  the  Mission  opened,  the  card  for 
night  work  bearing  these  words  : 

"  Aht  Mothers  Girl  Wishing  to  Leave  a  Crooked  Life,  May  Fund 
Friends,  Food,  Shelter,  and  a 

HELPING    HAND 

By  Coming  Just  As  She  Is,  to  the  Florence  Night  Mission." 

In  the  first  year  one  hundred  and  seventy-six  fallen  women 
and  girls  were  received  into  the  Home.  They  had  had  a  terror 
of  the  ordinary  reformatory  or  Home,  and  often  hesitated  when 
the  Mission  card  was  given  them. 

"I  want  to  do  better;  but,  oh,  I  can't  be  shut  up  in  one 
of  those  places."  was  the  cry  of  numbers.  To  find  that  no 
stipulations  were  made,  that  the  utmost  liberty  was  given, 
that  they  were  cared  for  with  food,  clothing,  and  medicine  if 
necessary;  told  to  stay  as  long  as  they  wished,  or  to  leave  if 
they  felt  they  must,  —  all  this  was  a  method  quite  unknown 
to  them.  Soon  every  bed  filled.  Many  begged  to  sleep  on 
the  floor,  and  each  night  the  number  of  unhappy  creatures  at 
the  meetings  increased.  To  meet  this  demand  the  house  next 
door  was  bought,  and  both  thrown  into  one.  with  a  building1 
at  the  rear,  so  that  to-dav  it  has  the  accommodations  of  the 


228 


A  HAVEN   OF   PEACE   AND   REST. 


average  small  hotel,  and  there  are  rooms  for  every  order  of 
work  that  must  be  done. 

All  who  enter  the  house  have  a  share  in  the  work,  which  is 
under  the  general  direction  of  the  Matron.     Here  the  inmates 


THE   FLORENCE   NIGHT   MISSION   BUILDING. 

stay  till  employment  can  be  secured,  till  they  can  be  sent  to 
their  own  homes,  or,  as  must  sometimes  be  the  case,  to  the 
hospital  to  die.  On  entering  the  Mission  a  full  record  of  the 
case  is  made  in  the  record  book,  with  a  statement  of  age, 
nationality,  denomination,  residence,  whether  father  or  mother 
are  living  and  if  so,  where,  when  received,  by  whom  brought; 


A    REFUGE    FOB   THE    FALLEN. 


and  when  the  guesl  Leaves,  a  record  is  made  of  the  date  of 
discharge,  to  whom  and  where  sent,  and  it'  subsequently  heard 
from  this  fact  is  noted,  with  any  information  that  will  enable 

the  Mission  to  keep  track  of  1km-. 

This,  it  will  he  seen,  is  in  reality  a  short  history  of  each 
life  that  finds  shelter  here,  and  each  year  has  seen  an  increas- 
ing number.  In  L890  there  were  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  inmates.  The  average  age  was  twenty-eight.  There 
were   double    the    number    of    Protestants    as    compared    with 


MIDNIGHT    LUNCH   FOR    STREET    GIRLS    AFTER    EVENING    SERVICE    AT   THE 
FLORENCE   NIGHT    MISSION.* 

Catholics,  and  in  the  entire  number  but  four  Jews.  In  nation- 
ality Americans  led,  there  being  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
three.  Seventy-three  Irish,  fifty-five  English,  ten  Scotch,  two 
Swedish,  nineteen  Germans,  one  AVelsh,  one  colored,  and  thirty- 
one  whose  nationality  is  unknown,  made  up  the  list,  which 
for  the  student  of  social  problems  is  a  most  suggestive  one. 

Every  night  the  women  who  saunter  past  these  Mission 
Rooms  can  hear  gospel  hymns  being  sung,  —  hymns  that  re- 
mind many  of  them  of  happy  homes  and  the  days  of  their 
youth.  There  is  a  welcome  for  any  who  choose  to  enter  and 
spend  an  hour.     A  few  words  of  Gospel  truth,  a  reminder  in 

*See  note  on  page  £46. 


230  INSIDE   A   CELLAR   STALE-BEER  DIVE. 

Christ's  own  words  that  whosoever  comes  to  him  shall  not  be 
cast  out,  and  then  more  singing  and  a  prayer.  From  the 
houses  around  come  sounds  of  uproarious  merriment,  coarse 
jests  and  laughter;  but  here  in  the  midst  of  all  the  vice  and 
degradation  is  a  haven  of  peace  and  rest.  Many  women  come 
and  come  again.     Some  are  glad  to  stay. 

It  is  the  night  work  of  the  Mission  in  which  the  strongest 
interest  centers.  The  congregation,  when  it  assembles  in  the 
little  chapel,  is  made  up  not  only  of  the  women  and  their 
companions,  who  are  cabmen,  freight-handlers,  saloon-keepers, 
and  countrymen  who  have  come  to  see  city  sights,  but  also 
of  thieves,  drunkards,  and  beggars.  Sixty  thousand  women 
and  men  are  estimated  to  spend  the  night  in  the  streets  of 
New  York  city,  and  thousands  of  them  are  never  seen  in  the 
daytime.  It  is  impossible  to  reach  this  class  unless  one  goes 
among  them,  and  this  takes  one  into  low  concert  saloons, 
cellar  lodging-rooms,  or  to  any  point  where  experience  has 
taught  that  they  may  be  found.  Now  and  then  a  father  or 
mother  who  has  heard  of  the  Mission  work  comes  and  begs 
that  they  may  be  helped  to  find  a  long-lost  daughter.  A 
photograph  is  sent,  or  a  minute  description  is  given,  and  the 
missionary  looks  critically  at  the  throng  of  faces  assembled  in 
the  Mission  room,  hoping  that  he  may  find  the  one  for  whom 
home  is  waiting. 

The  low  concert-halls  and  stale-beer  dives  offer  the  fullest 
field.  These  places  are  most  often  in  the  basement,  reached 
by  rickety  stairs,  or  through  dimly  lighted  hallways.  Often 
the  rooms  are  small,  the  ceiling  low,  and  the  air  is  always  full 
of  the  fumes  of  tobacco  and  beer.  The  little  tables  placed 
against  the  walls  are  all  taken,  and  the  center  of  the  room  is 
filled  with  dancers,  most  of  them  young  men  and  girls,  and 
nearly  all  of  them  still  in  their  teens.  Many  of  the  men  are 
loafers,  living  in  part  on  the  girls'  wages  and  in  part  by  thiev- 
ing and  gambling.  Some  of  them  are  country  boys  who  have 
come  in  "  just  to  see."  They  will  come  again,  and  in  the  end 
find  the  woe  and  shame  that  lurk  under  this  cover  of  amuse- 
ment. 


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WHERE    THE    INMATES    COME    I-K'OM. 


233 


The  girls?     Some  of  them  are  country  girls,  drawn  by  this 
magnet  of  city  life,  who  came  seeking  honest  employment  and 

found  betrayal.  Many  arc  honest  working  girls  who  wanted 
dress  and  "  fan,"  and  were  caught  in  the  meshes  of  this  net  be- 
fore they  realized  what  the  danger  was.  Now  and  then  the 
keeper  of  one  of  these  dens  will  himself  warn  a  girl  to  leave 
before  it  is  too  late.  He  knows  the  unsuspicious  girl  who  has 
been  brought  in  by  some  villain,  quite  unconscious  of  danger. 


AN   EVERY    DAY   AND    EVERY   NIGHT    SCENE    IN    A    STALE-BEER    DIVE. 

In  a  dance  hall  near  Hester  Street  is  a  man  who  has  often 
worked  against  his  own  nefarious  business  in  this  fashion,  and 
he  has  a  waiter  equally  ready  to  send  away  such  a  case. 

A  girl  of  this  type  sat  at  one  of  the  tables  one  evening  as 
the  missionary  entered  bringing  with  him  the  photograph  of  a 
girl  he  hoped  to  find.  He  showed  it  to  Tom,  the  waiter,  who 
studied  it  attentively.  lie  had  never  seen  her,  and  said  so,  but 
as  if  he  felt  urged  to  help  some  one  in  like  case,  said, 

"  There's  a  girl  acrost  there  that  needs  you,  but  she  won't 
hear  to  have  you  go  right  up  to  her.     I'll  fix  it.     Wait  a  little." 

The  soft,  troubled  blue  eyes  of  the  girl  looked  up  surprised 
as  Tom  said  in  her  ear. 


234  A  TIMELY   RESCUE. 

"  There's  a  gentleman  acrost  the  room  wants  a  word  with 
you." 

She  rose  involuntarily  and  followed  him  to  where  the  mis- 
sionary stood. 

"  Here's  a  little  girl  that  is  going  to  make  a  big  fool  of  her- 
self," Tom  said,  with  a  nod  toward  her;  and,  turning  to  her, 
he  added,  "  I  know  this  gentleman,  Mary.  He  will  help  you 
out  if  you'll  listen  to  him." 

Mary  turned  to  run,  but  a  girl  near  laid  her  hand  on  her, 
and  two  or  three  others  came  up  as  the  missionary  appealed  to 
them. 

"  Leave,  for  God's  sake  !  "  one  of  her  companions  cried,  "be- 
fore you  get  into  the  same  pit  we're  in." 

"  Yes,"  cried  another.  "  If  you  want  bad  luck  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  from  the  moment  you  drink  your  first  glass  till 
you're  killed,  may  be,  in  a  drunken  row,  just  stay  on  here. 
There's  no  peace  in  it.  It's  bad  luck,  I  tell  you,  from  begin- 
ning to  end.  Better  get  out  while  you  can.  I  wish  I'd  never 
begun." 

Mary  listened,  more  and  more  uncertain,  and  the  mission- 
ary's detaining  hand  led  her  at  last  out  into  the  night,  under  the 
stars,  and  on  toward  the  Mission.  Then  she  fell  back  as  she 
saw  the  name  over  the  door,  and  cried  out, 

"  Oh,  I  can't  go  in  there  and  be  locked  up  months  and 
months.     Let  me  go ! " 

"  You  shall  go  when  you  wish,"  the  kind  voice  said.  "  Only 
come  in  now,  and  stay  just  for  to-night." 

"  You'll  cheat  me !  You'll  lock  me  up  as  soon  as  I'm  in- 
side ! "  she  cried. 

"  The  house  is  not  to  live  in.  It  is  only  to  stay  till  you 
have  made  up  your  mind  what  to  do,"  was  the  answer ;  and 
presently  the  frightened,  trembling  girl  passed  in,  and  in  an- 
other day  realized  from  what  she  had  been  saved. 

Often  just  such  a  case  is  found,  or  a  girl  who  has  but  just 
taken  the  first  evil  step,  and  who  turns  away  and  seeks  to  undo 
the  wrong.  There  is  a  lower  order.  Mulberry  Street  is  close 
at  hand,  with  the  low  "  dives "  for  which  it  is  noted.     Stale- 


A     DBN    OP    INFAMY. 


235 


beer  at  a  cent  a  pint  is  the  drink,  and  a  description  of  one  of 
them,  kept  by  Rosa,  an  Italian  woman,  may  stand  for  all.  Tin- 
room  was  small  and  it  owned  no  furniture,  save  a  bed,  a  stove 
ami  benches  around  the  walls.  At  the  foot  of  the  bed  stood  .1 
bench  used  as  a  counter,  where  Rosa  perched  when  she  looked 
up  to  the  picture  on  the  wall,  a  high-colored  saint  with  a  halo, 
before   whom  she  crossed   herself   when   difficult v  arose.      A 


A   STALE-BEER    DIVE    ON    MULBERRY   STREET    BY    DAY. 

crowd  of  men  and  women  in  all  stages  of  drunkenness  sat  about 
on  the  benches,  some  listening  to  "  Accordeon  Mary  "  playing  an 
asthmatic  accordeon,  some  of  them  singing  to  it.  They  looked 
up  interestedly  at  a  fresh  arrival,  and  watched  a  chance  to  pick 
a  pocket.  When  the  last  stage  of  drunkenness  came  on,  the 
victim  was  thrown  out  to  make  room  for  a  fresh  comer. 

On  the  floor  lay  a  woman  who  had  reached  this  stage.  She 
wTas  behind  the  door,  as  if  she  had  tried  to  hide,  and  Rosa  with 
many  nods  indicated  that  she  was  brought  in  by  roughs,  who 
had  given  her  drink  on  the  Bowery  and  then  enticed  her  here. 
It  is  the  story  of  many.     The  missionary  slipped  a  card  into  her 


236  RECALLING   HAPPIER   DAYS. 

pocket.  When  she  wakes,  homeless  and  despairing,  she  may 
possibly  turn  toward  the  Mission. 

On  the  benches  poor  creatures  were  stretched,  with  swollen 
eyes  and  cut  faces,  some  of  them  beaten  almost  to  a  jelly. 
One  of  them,  as  we  looked,  rose  up  suddenly,  a  woman  with 
dishevelled  gray  locks  and  mad,  wild  face. 

"  Sing !  sing ! "  she  wildly  screamed,  and  Eosa  nodded 
assent. 

"  Sing,  '  Where  is  my  wandering  boy  to-night,' "  she  cried 
again.     Instead  the  missionary  sang, 

"  Art  thou  weary,  art  thou  languid, 
Art  thou  sore  distressed? 
Come  to  Christ  and  know  in  coming 
He  will  give  thee  rest." 

"  More  !  More ! "  called  the  crowd,  and  the  shrill  voice  of 
the  gray-haired  woman  rose  above  the  rest.  To  satisfy  the 
crazy   mother  the   missionary   sang   in    rich    and    melodious 

voice, — 

' '  Where  is  my  wandering  boy  to-night, 
The  boy  of  my  tenderest  care, 
The  boy  that  was  once  my  joy  and  light, 
The  child  of  my  love  and  prayer? 

"Go,  find  my  wandering  boy  to-night ; 
Go,  search  for  him  where  you  will, 
But  bring  him  to  me  with  all  his  blight, 
And  tell  him  I  love  him  still." 

Silence  reigned.  One  by  one  the  noisy  inmates  had  settled 
down,  and  when  the  last  line  was  sung  scarce  a  whisper  was 
heard.  A  man  crawled  out  from  under  the  benches,  and  sat 
on  the  floor  looking  up  through  tears.  A  woman  who  had  lain 
in  the  fireplace,  her  hair  filled  with  ashes,  burst  into  sobs,  — 
maudlin  tears,  perhaps,  but  sometimes  they  mean  repentance. 

The  missionary  read  a  few  verses,  looking  about  to  see  who 
were  listening.  Over  in  one  corner  sat  a  pair  whose  appear- 
ance was  unlike  the  rest,  and  he  wondered  how  they  came 
there,  for  they  were  clean  and  of  a  different  order.  As  he 
reached  the  corner  the  young  man  slowly  rose  and  whispered, 


AN   ALL-NIGHT    MISSIONARY'S    EXPERIENCE.  237 

"I  want  you  to  help  us.     I'm  n  printer.    Three  days  ago 

this  young*  lady  and  me  went  on  an  excursion.  We  gol  drunk 
without  knowing-  it.  you  mighl  say,  and  this  is  where  we 
brought  up.     Will  you  help  us,  both  of  us?" 

He  was  Bent  to  a  decent  lodging-house,  and  she  was  taken  to 

the  Mission,  to  go,  a  few  days  Later,  hack'  to  her  own  home, 
to  repent  all  her  life  that  one  incautious  hour  when  she 
wondered  what  whiskey  was  like. 

Even  from  lower  dives  than  this  there  is  now  and  then 
one  rescued,  as  the  following  incident  related  by  all-night 
missionary  Gibbud  will  show. 

All-Night  Missionary  Gibbud' s  Story. 

I  had  been  holding  meetings  in  a  small  room  in  the  midst 
of  the  slums  of  Baxter  Street,  going  out  into  the  alleys, 
saloons,  and  dives  of  the  neighborhood,  and  literally  compel- 
ling the  people  to  come  in.  I  made  frequent  visits  after  dark 
to  uHell  Gate,"  "Chain  and  Locker,"  and  "Bottle  Alley," 
resorts  for  sailors  and  low  characters,  and  invited  them  to  the 
meeting.  The  proprietors,  though  in  a  bad  business,  generally 
treated  me  with  courtesy,  though  I  sometimes  succeeded  in 
taking  nearly  all  their  customers  away. 

One  summer  night  I  started  out  to  gather  in  my  audi- 
ence. The  streets  were  full.  Men,  women,  and  children,  of  "all 
nations,  kindred,  and  tongues,"  lined  the  sidewalks,  sat  on  the 
doorsteps,  or  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  street  talking.  Almost 
every  store  was  a  clothing  establishment  kept  by  an  Israelite. 
On  the  sidewalk,  and  in  front  of  stores,  lines  of  clothing,  new 
and  second-hand,  were  arranged  for  sale  while  father,  mother, 
sons,  and  daughters  urged  upon  the  passer-by  the  merits  of 
the  goods.  Should  any  one  by  chance  cast  his  eye  upon  a 
suit  of  clothes,  he  would  be  seized  and  carried  by  main  force 
into  the  store,  and  urged  to  "oxamine  dose  goods,  mine  frent. 
Ye  vill  gif  you  a  pargain.  Dis  is  der  original  and  only  Cohen 
— der  sheepest  blace  on  Baxter  Avenue."  A  "mud-gutter" 
band  in  front  of  one  of  the  dance-halls  was  making  discordant 
music,  while  children  of  all  ages,  from  the  babe  just  out  of 


238  SCENES   IN  A   LOW   DANCE-HALL. 

the  mother's  arms  to  the  young  girl  in  her  teens,  jostled  each 
other  in  a  rude  attempt  at  dancing.  Bare-headed  colored 
women,  in  soiled  calico  dresses,  with  sleeves  rolled  up,  stopped, 
before  entering  the  brothels,  to  join  with  rough-looking  sailors 
in  a  "break-down."  From  a  cellar- way  leading  to  filthy 
underground  apartments  came  the  noise  of  a  piano,  drummed 
by  unskilled  hands,  while  the  painted  women  at  the  door  tried 
to  induce  victims  to  enter.  Crowding  my  way  through,  I 
entered  a  saloon.  The  place  was  filled  with  the  fumes  of  rum 
and  tobacco,  the  ceiling  was  low  and  dingy,  the  floor  waxed 
for  dancing.  At  one  end  of  the  room  was  an  orchestra  in- 
cluding a  bass-viol  with  a  bad  cold,  a  fiddle  with  three 
strings,  and  a  wheezy  accordion ;  at  the  other  end  was  a  bar,  to 
which,  after  each  dance,  the  floor-manager  invited  the  dancers 
to  "walk  up  and  treat  yer  pardners,  gentlemen."  "White  and 
black  mingled  indiscriminately  in  the  dance.  A  huge  negro 
swung,  with  great  force,  a  young  white  girl  who  was  puffing 
clouds  of  smoke  from  a  short  pipe. 

After  a  word  with  the  proprietor,  I  began  to  invite  the 
people  to  the  meeting.  One  young  mulatto  girl,  in  answer  to 
my  invitation,  said, — 

"Me  go  to  meetin';  wal  I  guess  you  dunno  who  you's 
invitin'.  Why  I'se  a  sinner,  I  is ;  you  don'  want  no  such  as  I 
is ;  I  ain't  good  '  nuf  to  go  to  no  meetin'." 

"Oh  yes,  you  are;  Christ  came  to  save  sinners,  however 
bad.     He  came  for  the  lost." 

"Wal,  if  He  come  for  de  lost,  I'se  de  child  He  corned 
for,  cause  I'se  lost  shuah.     Guess  I'll  be  over  bime  bye." 

Next  a  sailor  drew  back  in  amazement  at  being  invited  in 
such  a  place  to  a  gospel  meeting,  and  could  scarcely  believe 
that  I  was  in  earnest. 

"Look  here,  shipmate,"  he  said,  "I  hain't  been  to  no  chapel 
in  twenty-five  years, —  not  since  I  left  home  and  went  afore 
the  mast.  I  was  brought  up  as  good  as  the  next  one,  and  used 
to  go  to  Sunday-school  and  church ;  but  I  got  to  readin'  novels 
and  papers  full  of  excitin'  stories,  and  swung  off  from  home 
for  romance,  but  I  got  reality,  I  kin  tell  you," 


THE   LOWEST   OF  THE    LOW. 

We  talked  of  home  and  mother;  soon  the  tears  ran  down 
his  bronzed  checks,  and  he  said.  "Heave  ahead;  Pll  go  for  old 

times'  sake,  if  you  don't  think  the  walls  will  fall  on  me."  B  . 
one  by  one,  I  induced  them  to  leave  the  daucc-hall  and  cross 
over  to  the  meeting. 

I  had  just  come  out  of  the  place  named  "  Hell  (Tate"  when 
I  saw  a  partially  intoxicated  woman  supporting  herself  against 

a  lamp-post,  and  near  by  stood  a  burly  negro.  The  woman 
was  tall  and  thin,  and  it  was  plain  even  then  that  consump- 
tion was  doing  its  fatal  work.  She  had  no  hat.no  shoes;  a 
dirty  calico  dress  was  all  the  clothing  she  had  on.  and  that  was 
not  in  condition  to  cover  her  nakedness.  Her  hair  was  matted 
and  tangled,  her  face  bruised  and  swollen ;  both  eyes  were 
blackened  by  the  fist  of  her  huge  negro  companion,  who  held 
her  as  his  slave  and  had  beaten  her  because  she  had  not  brought 
him  as  much  money  as  he  wanted.  I  invited  her  to  the  meet- 
ing and  passed  on.  Near  the  close  of  the  service  she  came  in; 
with  tearful  eyes  she  listened  to  the  story  of  Jesus,  and  was  one 
of  the  first  to  request  prayers.  After  the  meeting  she  ex- 
pressed a  desire  for  a  better  life,  but  she  had  no  place  to  go, 
save  to  the  dens  of  infamy  from  which  she  came.  I  decided  at 
once  to  take  her  to  the  Florence  Night  Mission,  and.  accompa- 
nied by  a  friend  who  had  assisted  me  in  the  meeting,  we 
started. 

We  were  going  toward  the  horse-cars,  and  congratulating 
ourselves  that  we  had  gotten  away  unobserved,  when  we  were 
confronted  by  the  very  negro  from  whom  we  sought  to  escape. 
With  an  oath  he  demanded, 

"Whar  you  folks  takin  dat  gal  to  \n 

It  was  a  fearful  moment,  near  midnight,  a  dark  street,  and 
not  a  soul  in  sight.  I  expected  every  moment  that  he  would 
strike  me.  I  was  no  match  for  him.  Signaling  mv  friend  to 
go  on  with  the  girl,  and  taking  the  negro  by  the  coat,  I  said 
excitedly, 

"  I  am  taking  her  to  a  Christian  home  —  to  a  better  life.  If 
ever  you  prayed  for  any  one.  pray  for  her;  I  know  you  are  a 
bad  man.  but  you  ought  to  be  glad  to  help  any  girl  away  from 
this  place.     So  pray  for  her  as  you  have  never  prayed  before." 

15 


240 


A   DOUBTFUL   PROPHECY. 


All  this  time  my  friend  and  the  woman  were  going 
down 'the  street  as  fast  as  possible.  I  had  talked  so  fast  that 
the  negro  did  not  have  a  chance  to  say  a  word,  and  before  he 
could  recover  from  his  astonishment  I  ran  on.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  follow. 


THE     GIRLS      INDUSTRIAL     ROOM     AT     THE 
FLORENCE  NIGHT   MISSION. 


Four  cars  were  hailed  before  one  would  let  us  on.  The 
drivers  would  slacken  up,  but,  seeing  the  woman's  condition, 
would  whip  up  their  horses  and  drive  on.  Finally,  when  the 
next  driver  slackened,  we  lifted  our  frail  burden  to  the  plat- 
form before  he  could  prevent  us. 

Arriving  at  the  Mission,  we  helped  her  up  the  steps  and 
rang  the  bell ;  she  turned  to  me  and  said,  "  You  will  be  proud 
of  me  some  day."  I  smiled  then,  as  I  thought  the  chances  of 
being  proud  of  her  were  slim,  but  how  many  times  since,  wheal 
vast  audiences  have  been  moved  to  tears  by  the  pathos  of  her 
story,  or  spellbound  by  her  eloquence,  have  I  indeed  been 
proud  of  her. 

She  was  admitted  to  the  house,  giving  the  assumed  name 
of  Nellie  Conroy.     For  nine  years  she  had  lived  in  Baxter 


A   REMARKABLE   CON  VKKMoX.  &4] 

Street  slums,  becoming  a  victim  to  all  the  vices  thai  attend  a 
dissipated  life  until  at  last  she  became  an  utter  wreck.  Every- 
thing was  done  for  her  at  the  .Mission,  and  in  time  permanent 
employment  was  found. 

Some  time  after,  word  reached  the  Mission  thai  Nellie  had 
left  her  place  and  gone  back  to  her  old  haunts  in  Baxter  Street. 

A  card  with  the  address  of  "The  Florence"  was  left  at  one  of 
her  resorts,  and  the  whole  matter  was  forgotten,  until  late  one 
night  the  doorbell  of  the  Mission  rooms  softly  rang,  and  the 
poor  wretched  object  admitted  proved  to  be  Nellie.  At  the 
meeting-  the  next  night  she  was  the  first  to  come  forward. 
When  asked  to  pray,  she  lifted  her  pale  face  to  heaven,  and 
quoted,  Avith  tearful  pathos,  that  beautiful  hymn : 

"The  mistakes  of  my  life  have  been  many, 
The  sins  of  my  heart  have  been  more; 
And  I  scarce  can  see  for  weeping, 
But  I'll  knock  at  the  open  door." 

Then  followed  a  touching  prayer,  a  humble  confession  of 
sin,  an  earnest  pleading  for  pardon,  a  quiet  acceptance  of  Christ 
bv  faith,  a  tearful  thanksgiving  for  knowledge  of  sins  forgiven. 

Her  life  from  that  time  until  her  death  —  nearly  two  yea  is 
later — was  that  of  a  faithful  Christian.  She  gave  satisfaction 
to  her  employers ;  she  was  blessed  of  God  in  her  testimony  at 
the  Mission,  and  soon  she  was  sought  after  by  churches,  tem- 
perance societies,  and  missions  to  tell  what  great  things  the 
Lord  had  done  for  her.  She  spoke  to  a  large  assemblage  of 
nearly  3,000  people  in  the  Cooper  Union,  New  York,  holding 
the  audience  spellbound  with  her  pathetic  story.  She  possessed 
a  wonderful  gift  of  language  and  great  natural  wit,  that,  com- 
bined with  her  thrilling  story,  made  her  a  most  interesting  and 
entertaining  speaker.  She  was  uneducated,  but  she  had  a 
remarkable  memory;  she  soon  became  familiar  with  the  Bible, 
and  many  were  won  to  Christ  through  her  testimony.  Her 
pale  face  would  become  flushed  with  a  hectic  glow  as  she  spoke 
of  the  wonderful  things  God  had  done  for  her. 

"Glory  be  to  His  great  name!"  she  would  say;  -it  was  no 
common  blood  that  washed  Nellie  Conroy  from  her  sins,  and 


242  NINE   YEARS   OF  SIN  AND  DISSIPATION. 

no  common  power  that  reached  down  and  took  her  from  the 
slums  of  Baxter  Street  after  nine  years  of  sin  and  dissipation. 
It  was  nothing  but  the  precious  blood  of  Jesus  that  saved  me. 
Where  are  my  companions  who  started  down  life's  stream 
with  me,  young,  fresh,  and  happy  ?  We  started  out  to  gather 
the  roses  of  life,  but  found  only  thorns.  Many  of  them  to-day 
sleep  in  nameless  and  dishonored  graves  in  the  Potter's 
Field,  and  their  souls — oh!  where  are  they? — while  I  am 
spared,  redeemed ! " 

Her  life  was  indeed  a  changed  one ;  from  idleness,  filth, 
drunkenness,  and  sin,  she  was  transformed  into  a  neat,  indus- 
trious, sober,  godly  woman.  But  sin  had  sown  its  seed  and 
she  must  reap  the  harvest ;  she  grew  weaker  until  at  last  she 
went  to  the  hospital  to  linger  for  months  in  great  suffering  and 
pain,  borne  with  Christian  resignation.  Her  constant  testimony 
was  — 

"  The  love  He  has  kindled  within  me 
Makes  service  or  suffering  sweet." 

One  day  a  visitor  said,  "  Nellie,  you  are  nearing  the  river." 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  have  already  stepped  in,  but  God's  word 
says,  '  When  thou  passest  through  the  waters  I  will  be  with 
thee,  and  through  the  rivers  they  shall  not  overflow  thee.' 
The  promise  is  true  ;  I  am  dry  shod." 

At  the  last  she  could  scarcely  speak ;  she  knew  her  end  was 
near,  and  when  the  14th  chapter  of  St.  John's  gospel  was  read 
to  her  she  said,  "  My  mansion  is  there,  the  Comforter  is  here ; 
the  promise  is  fulfilled.  Sing  at  my  funeral,  "I  am  going 
home  to  die  no  more." 

Summoned  to  her  bedside,  the  nurse  bent  down  to  hear  her 
faintly  whisper,  "  Jesus,  precious  Jesus."  These  were  her  last 
words,  her  face  lit  up  as  she  seemed  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
better  land,  and,  with  the  name  of  Jesus  on  her  lips  the  spirit 
of  the  once  poor,  despised  Magdalene  took  its  flight  to  the 
bright  mansions  of  whose  possessions  she  had  been  so  sure. 

At  her  funeral  many  Christian  workers  and  friends  gath- 
ered to  do  honor  to  her  remains.     Manv  converts  from  the 


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slums  who  had  been  won  to  Chrisl  by  her  testimony   were 
among  the  mourners,  and  not  a  few  came  to  look  on  that  pale 
face  who  still   lived   in   sin  and  shame,  but  who  sincerely  loved 
one  who  had  so  often  entreated  them  to  turn  and  live. 
On  the  coffin  plate  was  engraved: 


M- 


Aged  29  years, 
Died  March  16th,  1885. 


The  cities  and  towns  of  almost  every  State  find  representa- 
tives in  this  throng  of  wanderers,  and  each  one  means  a  heart- 
break for  some  one  at  home.  The  Work  of  the  Florence 
Mission  is  typical.  It  is  simply  a  variation  in  the  form  of  this 
work  that  goes  on  at  the  sister  Mission  on  Greene  Street,  where 
much  the  same  methods  are  used.  "Without  the  freedom  at- 
tached to  both,  successful  work  would  be  impossible  in  this 
special  field.  There  are  many  Homes  and  reformatories  where 
a  certain  amount  of  force  enters  in,  but  none  do  just  the  work 
of  these  two.  They  labor  for  women,  but  in  the  evening  meet- 
ings at  the  Florence  Mission  men  are  admitted,  and  the  rules 
of  the  institution  are  much  the  same  as  those  governing  the 
'Water  Street  Mission.  Like  that,  also,  one  hears  every  form 
of  testimony,  pathetic,  solemn,  or  grotesque  as  it  may  happen, 
but  all  with  the  same  spirit  of  earnestness.  Let  an  Irish  brother, 
whose  voice  still  lingers  in  my  memory,  and  who  had  tried  all 
depths  of  sin,  have  the  last  word  from  the  Florence  Night 
Mission. 

"  A  word  on  this  whiskey,  me  friends.  I  heerd  a  man  say 
whiskey  was  right  enough  in  its  place,  which  place  is  hell,  says 
I.  It  brought  me  down  to  hell's  dure,  an'  I  well  know  what 
it's  loike.  For  twinty-f our  years  I  was  a  tramp;  a  dirty  spal- 
peen of  a  tramp.  The  brother  forninst  me  there  said  God 
found  him  in  his  hotel.  'Twasn't  in  nary  a  hotel  nor  lodgin'- 
house,  nor  yet  a  flat,  the  Lord  found  me  in,  but  in  the  gutther, 
for  I'd  niver  a  roof  to  me  head.     I  came  in  here  cold,  hungry, 


246  AN  IRISH  BROTHER'S  TESTIMONY. 

an'  wet,  an'  stood  by  the  shtove  to  dhry  meself,  an'  I  heerd 
yees  all  tellin'  an'  tellin',  an'  I  begun  to  pray  meself  thin.  I 
prayed  God  to  help  me,  an'  He  did.  I  was  talkin'  to  a  naygur 
outside,  an'  he  said  to  me,  says  he, '  I  was  an  Irishman  like  yer- 
self  in  the  ould  counthry,  but  I  got  black  whin  I  come  to 
Americy.'  Ye  can  laugh  all  ye  loike,  but  I  tell  yees  me  heart 
was  as  black  as  that  naygur  whin  I  come  in  here,  but  it's  white 
now  in  the  blood  o'  the  Lamb.  There'  hope  for  every  wan  o' 
yees  if  there  was  a  ghost  o'  chance  for  me,  an'  you'd  betther 
belave  it." 


Note. — While  this  volume  was  passing  through  the  press  a  proof  of  page 

229  was  sent  by  the  Publishers  to  Mrs.  A.  L.  Prindle,  Matron  of  the  Florence 

Night  Mission,  with  a  request  to  verify  the  statistics  thereon  given  in  order  to 

ensure  absolute  correctness.     From  her  letter  returning  the  revised  proof  we 

make  the  following  interesting  extract:  — 

"FLORENCE   NIGHT   MISSION. 

"  New  York,  April  23,  1891. 

"At  this  hour,  ten  p.  m.,  word  has  just  been 

received  at  the  Mission  of  a  very  sad  occurrence.  The  woman  at  the  right  in 
the  picture  on  page  229,  whose  head  is  bowed,  whom  I  remember  well  as 
'  Shakespeare,'  a  notorious  outcast,  well  known  in  all  this  region,  was  found 
murdered  this  morning  in  a  cheap  lodging-place  on  Water  Street.  She  fre- 
quently came  to  the  Mission  and  was  present  the  night  you  made  the  flash- 
light picture  of  the  girls  at  lunch,  though  too  intoxicated  to  hold  up  her 
head." 


CHAPTEE  XL 

GOSPEL  WORK  IX  THE  SLUMS-AX    ALL-NIGHT    MISSIONARY'S 
LIFE— A   MIDNIGHT   CURBSTONE   MEETING— UP   SHINBONE 

ALLEY. 

A  Midnight  Curbstone  Meeting  — A  Confidence  Game  that  Failed  to  Work 

—  An  Astonished  Thief — "You  Ought  to  be  a  Christian"  —  "Will 
Christ  Pay  my  Rent?"  —  A  Midnight  Sermon  —  One  of  the  Devil's 
Family  — Sowing  Seed  on  Stony  Ground— "If  I'd  only  Stuck  to  Sun- 
day School  "  —  Dark  and  Dirty  Pell  Street  —  Five-Cent  Lodging-Houses 

—  Shinbone  Alley  At  Three  o'clock  in  the  Morning— A  Typical  Street 
Boy  —  One  of  the  Gang — "  Snoozin' *'  on  a  Beer  Keg  —  A  Suspicious 
Looking  Wagon  —  A  Whispered  Consultation  —  "  Corkey  "  from  "Up 
de  River"  — Fallen  among  Thieves— A  Deep  Laid  Plot— A  Thirsty 
Crowd  of  Desperate  Roughs  —  The  Story  of  the  Cross  and  the  Dying 
Thief  —  A  Speechless  Audience  —  "  De  Fust  to  Preach  Religion  roun' 
dese  Corners"  — "  Wal.  I'm  Blowed "  —  Caught  by  the  Great  Detective. 

AX  all-night  city  missionary's  life  is  full  of  strange  experi- 
ences. Mr.  GibbucUs  faithful  work  in  this  capacity  was 
unique,  and  from  his  store  of  reminiscences  I  give,  in  his  own 
words,  the  following  interesting  incidents  : 

A   Midnight   Curbstone   Meeting. 

Late  one  night  I  was  pleading  with  a  drunken  man  on  the 
Bowery  while  two  friends  stood  waiting  for  me  not  far  off. 
Suddenly  I  noticed  one  of  a  gang  of  thieves,  who  were  loung- 
ing around  the  door  of  a  low  concert-hall,  leave  his  com- 
panions, approach  my  friends,  and  enter  into  conversation.  I 
left  my  man  and  joined  them.  Seeing  that  I  was  the  leader  of 
the  party,  he  addressed  himself  to  me,  suggesting  that  we  try 
our  hands  at  a  "  game."  "  My  friend,''  I  said,  "  I  know  you 
and  your  confidence  game.  I  should  think  a  man  like  you 
would  want  to  be  in  some  better  business  than  swindling 
people.  It's  mighty  mean  business  —  that  of  a  thief  —  don't 
you  think  so?"     At  first  he  was  too  much  astonished  to  do 

(247) 


248  A  NIGHT  AUDIENCE  OF   STREET   TOUGHS. 

anything  but  glare  savagely  at  me ;  then,  recovering  himself, 
he  acted  as  though  he  was  about  to  spring  upon  me.  I  laid  my 
hand  on  his  arm  and  gently  said :  "  You  ought  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian." 

He  started  back  as  though  struck,  but  quickly  recovered, 
and  said  with  a  sneer  and  in  a  loud  voice :  "  Me  a  Christian  ? 
Will  Christ  pay  my  rent  ?     Will  Christ  feed  me  ?  " 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  have  seen  a  good  many  begin  serving 
Christ  without  a  cent  or  even  a  place  to  lay  their  heads, 
and  I  never  knew  one  He  let  go  down  who  was  really  in 
earnest." 

"  But,  see  here,  did  you  ever  see  Christ  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  expect  to  see  Him ;  I  have  His  word  that  I 
shall." 

Turning  to  his  companions  he  shouted :  "  Come  here,  fel- 
lows, and  see  a  chump  who's  got  a  promise  of  seein'  Christ." 

We  were  standing  under  an  electric  light,  it  being  long  past 
midnight.  Quite  a  number  who  were  passing  stopped,  the 
thief's  companions  gathered  around,  and  I  soon  found  myself 
in  the  center  of  a  typical  Bowery  crowd  —  Jew  and  Gentile,  a 
number  of  sporting-men  and  thieves,  two  or  three  fallen 
women,  several  drunken  men,  and  others  attracted  by  the 
noise,  eager  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

Again  turning  to  his  companions  the  thief  said  in  loud  and 
jeering  tones :  "  Here's  a  fellow  as  is  goin'  to  see  Christ." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  opening  the  Bible,  "I  have  His  word  for  it; 
I  will  read  it  to  you :  '  Beloved,  now  are  we  the  sons  of  God ; 
and  it  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be,  but  we  know  that 
when  He  shall  appear  we  shall  be  like  Him,  for  we  shall  see 
Him  as  He  is.'  " 

"  Oh,  you're  a  son  of  God,  are  you  ? "  he  exclaimed  con- 
temptuously. 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  His  word  for  that,"  reading  the  Bible 
again ;  '  As  many  as  received  Him  to  them  gave  He  power  to 
become  the  sons  of  God,  even  to  them  that  believe  on  His  name.' 
I  was  once  far  away  from  God,  a  great  sinner,  but  I  believed 
and  received,  and  became  his  child." 


THE   man    Willi   ONE   EAR.  240 

"Well,  brother,  here's  my  band;  I'm  a  child  of  God,  too," 
be  said,  vrinking  at  bis  companions. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  [,  "don't  call  me  brother ;  you  don't  belong 
to  the  Lord's  family.  'Ye  are  of  your  father,  the  devil.'5 
And  I  read  from  Romans:  "  '  Know  ye  not  to  whom  ye  yield 
yourselves  servants  to  obey,  his  servants  ye  are  to  whom  ye 
obey;'  your  regular  business  is  to  serve  the  devil,  and  you  can't 
palm  yourself  off  on  me  as  one  of  God's  family.  But  yon  may 
be  adopted  into  His  family  if  you  will."  Then  I  read  John 
3  :  16.  "  'For  God  so  loved  the  world  that  lie  gave  His  only 
begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  belie veth  in  Him  should  not  per- 
ish, but  have  everlasting  life.'  " 

A  man  who  had  one  of  his  ears  nearly  torn  off  in  a  fight 
and  whose  head  was  bandaged  so  that  only  his  eyes  and  mouth 
could  be  seen,  said:  "You  had  better  take  a  back  seat,  Bill; 
he's  too  much  for  you/' 

Bill  quickly  turned  with  an  angry  oath,  and  said:  "You'd 
better  get  out  of  this  or  maybe  youll  get  a  swipe  across  'tother 
ear;  there's  nothin'  here  for  the  likes  of  you — a  man  with  only 
one  ear." 

At  this  the  crowd  laughed  and  guyed  the  man  with  the 
bandaged  head,  who  was  quickly  making  his  way  out  of  the 
crowd,  when  I  reached  over  and  caught  him  by  the  shoulder, 
and  said:  "Hold  on,  my  friend,  there  is  something  for  you." 
and  turning  to  Kevelation  I  read,  '  He  that  hath  an  c<n\  h  f 
him  hear.  To  him  that  overcometh,  will  I  give  to  eat  of  the 
tree  of  life.'  " 

The  crowd  laughed  boisterously  at  this  quotation,  and  I  saw 
that  I  had  their  sympathy,  so  I  gave  them  an  invitation  to 
attend  the  meetings  at  the  mission,  and  after  a  few  more 
words  I  closed  by  saying:  "We  shall  never  all  meet  on  earth 
again,  but  we  shall  each  have  to  give  an  account  of  this  curb- 
stone meeting.     May  God  bless  every  one  of  you." 

One  rough  fellow  stepped  forward  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
and  shook  my  hand  heartily,  saying:  "Stick  to  it,  I  wish  I  had; 
I  was  brought  up  right,  in  Sunday-school  and  all,  and  if  I  had 
stuck  to  it  I  wouldn't  be  what  I  am  to-iiight." 


250  SOWING  SEED  ON  STONY   GROUND. 

Just  as  I  was  going  away,  Bill  came  up  and  said,  much  to 
my  surprise:  "You  mustn't  mind  what  I  said,  I've  been  a 
drinkin'.  I  used  to  belong  to  the  church  and  was  a  Christian, 
but  I  got  off.  I  know  it's  the  better  way,  but  there's  no  good 
talkin'  to  me.     It's  no  use.     It's  no  use." 

After  a  few  words  with  him,  I  left,  praying  God  to  bless 
the  seed  sown  by  the  wayside.  On  the  following  Sunday  even- 
ing, when  I  opened  the  meeting  at  the  mission  for  testimony, 
one  of  Bill's  companions  got  up  and  said:  "I  have  been  a 
drinking  man  all  my  life,  and  have  spent  many  years  in  prison ; 
but  last  Thursday  night  the  man  in  the  chair  there  came  clown 
near  where  I  stay,  and  talked  about  Christ,  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  be  a  Christian,  and  I  haven't  touched  a  drop  of  liquor 
since." 

When  the  invitation  for  prayers  was  given,  the  first  one  to 
come  forward  was  Bill.  For  two  nights  both  of  these  men 
were  present,  Bill  coming  forward  for  prayers  each  night ; 
then  I  lost  sight  of  them. 

Nearly  six  months  passed,  when  Bill's  companion,  neatly 
dressed  and  greatly  altered,  came  again  to  the  mission-room. 
He  requested  us  to  sing : 

"  All  the  way  my  Saviour  leads  me, 
What  have  I  to  ask  beside," 

and  followed  it  by  saying,  "  That  is  my  experience."  He  then 
told  us  how  God  had  kept  and  blessed  him,  and  had  given 
him  employment.  The  Inspector  of  police  who  had  so  many 
times  caused  his  arrest  had  obtained  work  for  him.  He  was 
often  writh  us  in  the  meetings  after  this,  and  became  an  earnest 
worker. 

One  night  he  said  to  me :  "  Do  you  remember  Bill,  the  one 
who  wanted  to  know  if  Christ  would  pay  his  rent  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  the  devil  has  paid  his  rent  for  life;  he  was  sen- 
tenced for  life  last  week,  for  shooting  a  bartender." 

Speaking  of  this  incident  at  a  convention,  a  nurse  from  one 
of  the  city  hospitals  inquired  the  time  this  occurred,  and  said : 


A  RENDEZVOUS  OF    STOI  MG   THIEVES.  251 

"I  think  I  attended  the  man  who  had  his  ear  injured.  Be 
came  to  the  hospital  and  an  operation  was  performed,  but  it 
was  unsuccessful,  and  he  was  obliged  to  conic  back  again  and 
have  his  ear  entirely  cut  off.     The  man  asked  the  surgeon  If  he 

could  gel  a  false  car.  '  Xo/  said  the  surgeon,  "you  will  have  to 
go  throimli  life  with  one  ear.' 

"'"Well,5  said  the  man,  'thank  God  1  have  heard  of  a  book 
that  says  there  is  something  for  a  man  with  one  ear.'  " 

So  God  blessed  the  seed,  even  though  it  seemed  to  fall  on 
stony  ground. 

Up  Siiinbone  Alley  by  Xight. 

In  dark  and  dirty  Pell  Street  are  many  tumble-down  tene- 
ments, most  of  them  inhabited  by  Chinese,  who  run  gambling 
dens  and  opium-joints.  On  one  side  of  the  street  there  are  a 
number  of  stables  and  several  cheap  lodging-houses,  where  for 
five  cents  a  night  one  can  find  shelter  and  a  place  to  lie  down. 
Halt*  way  down  the  block  a  narrow"  lane  with  the  local  name 
of  Shin  bone  Alley  runs  in  crescent  shape  round  into  the 
Bowery.  This  alley  was  the  rendezvous  of  a  gang  of  young 
thieves. 

Many  a  countryman  or  Jack  Tar,  lured  a  few  steps  away 
from  the  glare  of  the  Bowery  into  Shin  bone  alley,  has  found 
himself  suddenly  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  desperate  roughs, 
and  before  he  was  aware  of  it  lay  on  his  back  in  the  gutter, 
minus  money,  watch,  and  everything  else  the  roughs  could  get 
hold  of.  The  thieves  vanished  as  swiftly  as  they  came  and 
were  in  safe  hiding  in  stables  and  dark  hallways  long  before 
the  victim  recovered  his  senses. 

It  was  just  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  I  turned  into 
the  alley.  Half  way  through  I  stumbled  over  a  beer-keg  on 
which  a  lad  was  curled  half  asleep,  who  started  up,  but  on 
seeing  me  dropped  back  again,  muttering,  "  I  thought  it  were  a 
copper."  In  answer  to  the  inquiry  as  to  what  he  was  doing 
there  at  that  time  of  night,  he  replied  briefly,  "  Snoozin '."  He 
was  a  bright  lad  of  twelve.  A  portion  of  an  old  straw  hat 
hid  his  dirty,  sleepy  face.     An  old  vest,  several  sizes  too  large, 


252 


A  YOUNG  HOODLUM. 


covered  a  soiled  and  greasy  calico  shirt.  His  pants  were  a 
mass  of  rags  and  patches  tied  together  with  numerous  strings. 
His  feet  were  covered  with  dirt,  thick  enough  to  answer  the 
purpose  of  stockings.  I  entered  into  conversation  by  asking 
his  name  and  what  he  did  for  a  living.     He  replied  in  true 


pvyj 


DOYERS  STREET,  KNOWN  LOCALLY  AS  SHLNBONE  ALLEY. 

Bowery  dialect,  "  Me  name's  Dutclry ;  I  shines,  sells  papers, 
and  works  de  growler  for  de  gang."  "  What's  the  growler  ? " 
I  asked.  "  Don't  yer  know  ?  "  he  replied,  looking  at  me  in  un- 
disguised contempt,  "  De  growler  ?  Why  dat's  de  pail  dey  gets 
de  beer  in  when  de  gang's  in  luck.  I  gets  only  de  froth.  We 
wus  out  to-night  and  took  in  de  te-a-ter  (theatre),  and  I  wus 
barred  out  of  de  house  and  wus  snoozin  when  you  corned 
along." 

The  lad  interested  me.     I  wanted  to  learn  his  story.     I  was 
turning  over  in  my  mind  how  best  to  handle  him  when  my 


A  SUSPICIOUS   CROWD.  253 

attention  was  drawn  to  an  old  covered  wagon  directly  in  front 

of  us,  inside  of  which  a  conversation  was  being  carried  on  in 
low  tone-. 

Noticing  my  look  of  inquiry,  Dutchy  said,  "  [t's  some  of  de 
gang."  In  a  moment  a  lank  typical  rough  go1  out  of  the 
wagon,  staggered  over  to  where  I  sat,  and  in  a  gruff  voice  said  : 
"What's  detune,  boss?"  glancingat  my  watch-pocket  as  though 
he  cared  more  to  see  the  timepiece  than  to  know  the  time.  lie 
seemed  disappointed  when  I  told  him  I  had  no  watch  with  me. 
He  returned  to  the  wagon  and  began  conversation  again  with 
those  inside.  I  learned  from  Dutchy  that  this  individual  was 
"Corkey,"  and  that  he  had  just  returned  ••from  doin5  time  up 
de  river"  (a  term  in  Sing  Sing  prison). 

Dutchy  was  now  called  over  to  the  gang  and  joined  in  the 
whispered  consultation.  Listening  intently,  I  was  convinced 
from  the  few  words  that  reached  me  that  they  were  planning 
to  rob  me,  and  I  realized  that  I  had  "fallen  among  thieves." 
Praying  for  wisdom  to  adopt  the  best  course,  1  awaited  devel- 
opments. In  a  few  minutes  the  roughs  to  the  number  of  eight 
or  ten  got  out  of  the  wagon  and  gathered  around  me.  One, 
evidently  the  leader,  advanced  nearer  than  the  rest  and  said 
sulkily,  "Boss,  we  want  yer  to  give  us  five  cents  till  we  get  a 
pint  o'  beer  to  wasli  de  cobwebs  from  our  treats." 

The  time  for  action  had  come.  I  said,  "  See  here,  boys,  I 
want  to  give  you  a  bit  of  good  advice.  When  you  plan  to  rob 
any  one,  never  pick  out  a  missionary,  for  they  are  always  as 
poor  as  a  church  mouse  and  never  have  anything  worth  steal- 
ing. Now,  I'm  a  missionary,  so  I  can  save  you  the  trouble  of 
going  through  my  clothes ;  there's  not  a  thing  in  them  worth 
the  taking."  They  stood  speechless,  and  I  continued,  "  Hoys,  I 
knew  what  you  were  up  to ;  but  instead  of  your  catching  me,  I 
have  caught  you."  "Without  giving  them  a  chance  to  say  any- 
thing I  told  them  the  story  of  the  cross,  and  how  Christ  in  the 
agonies  of  death  stopped  to  save  a  dying  thief  and  took  him  as 
a  companion  to  Paradise ;  and  how,  if  there  was  salvation  for 
a  dying  thief,  there  was  certainly  a  chance  for  a  living  one.  if 
they  would  only  come  to  the  same  Saviour.     I  urged  them  to 


254 

quit  their  life  of  sin  and  follow  Christ.  Not  one  of  them  spoke 
a  word. 

When  I  turned  to  go  away,  I  said,  "  Boys,  I  want  you  to 
remember  me  the  next  time  you  see  me.  Will  you  do  it?" 
"  Corkey  "  spoke  up  and  said,  "  Wal,  I'm  bio  wed.  I've  been 
around  dese  corners  for  de  last  seven  years,  and  you're  de  fust 
one  I  ever  seed  round  here  preachin'  religion.  You  can  bet 
your  bottom  dollar  I  wont  forget  your  phiz." 

One  of  this  gang  not  long  after,  to  escape  a  detective,  ran 
into  the  mission  meeting,  and,  to  use  his  own  words,  "was 
caught  by  the  Great  Detective  and  kept  from  stealin'  and 
everything  else  that  was  wicked  and  bad." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

SHOP-GIRLS  AND  WORKING  WOMEN  — THE  GREAT  ARMY  OF 
NEW  YORK  POOR-LIFE  UNDER  THE  GREAT  BRIDGE— THE 
BITTER  CRY  OF  NEW  YORK. 

Shop-Girls  and  their  Lives— Workers  in  all  Trades— Aching  Heads  and  Tired 
Feet  — The  Comforts  of  Old  Shoes  — Women  in  Rags  who  Sew  Silk  and 
Velvet  — Stories  of  Waul  and  Misery  — Life  among  the  Very  Poor- 
Working  Fourteen  Hours  for  Thirty  Cents  — The  Luxury  of  Sixty  Cents 
a  Day  — Skeletons  at  Work  — Brutal  Sweaters  —  Grinding  the  Faces  of 
the  Poor  — Human  Ghouls  Who  Drink  Blood  and  Eat  Flesh  — "  Poor 
Folks  Can't  Have  Much  Rostin'  nor  Fine  Doin's "  —  How  Norah  Cooked 
the  Steak— "Beans!"  — Tea  Like  Lye  — People  who  have  "Known  Bet- 
ter Days  "— Life  Under  the  Great  Bridge  — Turning  Night  into  Day- 
Cries  of  Despair  — Want  and  Woe  — Hope  Never  Dies  — Living  on  Por- 
ridge at  Six  Cents  a  Day  — Fearful  Scenes  — Starving  Body  and  Soul — 
Waiting  for  Better  Days  to  Come  —  "  Never  Better,  Always  Worse  and 
Worse" — The  Sorrow  of  the  Poor. 

AQUABTEE  of  a  million  women,  and  this  exclusive  of 
domestic  service !  Three  hundred  and  forty-three  trades 
open  to  them,  and  each  one  thronged  with  eager  learners! 
This  is  the  beginning  of  the  story  of  Xew  York  working-women, 
and  day  by  day  the  number  grows.  What  the  three  hundred 
and  forty  trades  specified  in  the  last  United  States  Labor 
Bureau  Eeport  are,  no  man  knows  save  only  the  census-taker 
and  the  newspaper  reporter,  who  must  know  all  things.  Many 
of  them  are  simply  subdivisions  of  old  trades  which  include 
many  processes,  each  one  so  thoroughly  separated  from  all  the 
rest  as  to  form  a  trade  in  itself.  Whatever  they  are,  and  how- 
ever little  reward  the  knowledge  of  their  intricacies  may  bring, 
it  is  certain  that  a  row  of  applicants  are  always  in  waiting,  and 
that  an  advertisement  for  one  often  brings  a  hundred. 

Before  sketching  the  life  of  the  worker  in  trades  of  all 
orders,  let  us  see  how  it  fares  with  the  shop-girl.     Often  she 

(255) 


256  FASCINATING   POSSIBILITIES  FOR   SHOP-GIRLS. 

begins  as  a  cash-girl,  leaving  school  at  twelve  or  thirteen,  and 
making  one  of  the  long  list  of  applicants  always  on  file  in  the 
great  retail  dry-goods  establishments.  It  is  a  favorite  ambition 
with  the  public-school  girl  from  the  better  class  of  tenement- 
house,  where  one  finds  chiefly  Irish  and  Germans.  The  child- 
ren are  quick  and  bright ;  apt  to  be  ready  reckoners,  and  look 
upon  the  great  stores  as  the  high  road  to  fortune.  That  she 
must  be  on  her  feet  most  of  the  day  and  work  for  $1.50  or  at 
most  $2.00  a  week,  and  may  not  be  counted  worth  more  than 
this  for  two  or  three  years,  does  not  deter  hundreds  from  ap- 
plying if  any  vacancy  occurs.  Certain  things  are  learned  that 
at  home  avouUI  probably  have  been  impossible.  They  find  that 
punctuality  is  the  first  essential,  learning  the  lesson  perhaps 
through  the  fines  over  which  they  cry.  To  them  nothing  can 
be  better  than  to  be  a  full-fledged  "  saleslady,"  and  it  may  be, 
even,  in  time,  the  head  of  a  department.  If  wages  are  a  pit- 
tance, hours  exhausting,  and  an  army  always  waiting  to  fill 
their  places  if  they  in  any  way  forfeit  them,  the  fact  of  com- 
panionship and  of  the  constant  interest  and  excitement  of 
watching  the  throng  in  shop  and  street  seems  sufficient  to  sat- 
isfy all  longings  and  prevent  much  complaint.  Their  quickness 
and  aptness  to  learn,  their  honesty  and  general  faithfulness, 
and  their  cheapness,  are  essentials  in  their  work ;  and  this  com- 
bination of  qualities  —  cheapness  dominating  all  —  has  given 
them  a  permanent  place  in  the  modern  system  of  trade.  The 
shop-girl  has  no  thought  of  permanence  for  herself.  The 
cheaper  daily  papers  record  in  fullest  detail  the  doings  of  that 
fashionable  world  toward  which  many  a  weak  girl  or  woman 
looks  with  unspeakable  longing;  and  the  weekly  " story  papers" 
feed  the  flame  with  details  of  the  rich  marriage  that  lifted  the 
poor  girl  into  the  luxury  which  stands  to  her  empty  mind  as 
the  sole  thing  to  be  desired  in  earth  or  heaven.  Hope  is  strong. 
She  expects  to  marry,  and  in  many  a  silly  little  head  there  is 
hidden  away  the  conviction  that  it  will  probably  be  some  rich 
and  handsome  customer,  who  will  woo  her  over  the  counter  to 
the  admiration  and  desperation  of  all  the  other  girls,  and  place 
her  at  once  where  she  really  belongs. 


\   shop  GIRL'S   daily    LIFE.  857 

She  knows  far  better  what  constitutes  the  life  of  the  rich 
than  the  rich  ever  know  of  the  life  of  the  poor.  From  her 
post  behind  the  counter  the  shop-girl  examines  every  detail  of 

cost  nun1,  every  air  and  grace  of  the  women  she  so  often 
despises,  even  when  longing-  most  to  be  one  of  them.  She 
imitates  where  she  can,  and  her  cheap  shoe  has  its  French 
heel,  her  neck  its  tin  dog-collar.  Gilt  rings,  bracelets  and 
bangles,  frizzes,  bangs  and  cheap  trimmings  of  every  order, 
swallow  up  her  earnings.  The  imitation  is  often  more  effec- 
tive than  the  real,  and  the  girl  knows  it.  She  aspires  to  a 
''manicure"  set,  to  an  opera  glass,  to  anything  that  will 
simulate  the  life  daily  paraded  before  her  and  most  passion- 
ately desired. 

In  the  early  morning  she  hurries  to  her  place  behind  the 
counter.  There  are  heavy  boxes  to  lift  down  and  arrange  in 
order  before  the  rush  of  business  begins,  and  even  before  the 
clerks  are  ready  to  receive  them  customers  begin  to  arrive. 
The  breakfast  of  weak  coffee  and  baker's  bread  has  given 
her  no  strength.  She  is  tired  before  she  begins,  and  she  grows 
more  tired  as  the  morning  goes  on  and  a  hundred  demands 
are  made  upon  her.  It  is  her  business  to  be  bright  and  smile, 
and  take  an  interest  in  every  quarter  of  a  yard  of  ribbon  that 
comes  in  to  be  matched.  The  crowd  fills  the  aisles.  She  must 
answer  questions  as  to  the  locations  of  other  departments ;  put 
aside  packages  for  customers  for  "  just  a  moment " ;  take  care 
of  their  change  while  they  go  to  another  counter;  keep  her 
eyes  open  for  pickpockets;  make  constant  calculations  of 
quantities  and  prices;  and  through  it  all  hurry,  hurry,  hurry, 
keeping  her  temper  and  a  smiling  face. 

Lunch-time  at  last!  That  precious  half-hour,  when  she 
can  sit  down  on  a  hard  bench  and  rest  deliciously  and  cat  a 
roll  and  some  baker's  dry  cookies  brought  from  home,  with 
an  intense  longing  for  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  or  tea.  At  night 
how  her  feet  ache,  and  her  back  and  her  head,  as  she  climbs 
the  stairs  of  a  tenement-house,  oftentimes  to  find  her  lather 
growling  and  grumbling  as  he  comes  out  from  a  drunken  sleep. 

The  shopper  on  her  busy  rounds  for  bargains  comes  at  last 

16 


258  LONG   HOURS   OF   HARD   LABOR. 

to  think  of  the  shop-girl  as  simply  a  machine  for  taking  down 
boxes,  with  an  occasional  tendency  to  impertinence  and  a  cer- 
tain one  to  overdressing.  Headache  or  heartache,  tired  or 
sick,  it  is  all  one  to  the  buyer,  who,  if  she  pauses  for  a  moment 
to  notice  a  specially  pretty  or  possibly  troubled  face,  turns 
away  with  a  vague  sense  that  this  is  an  order  of  which  she 
knows  nothing.  A  gulf  as  wide  as  that  between  Dives  and 
Lazarus  divides  the  rich  customer  from  the  girl  who  watches 
every  detail  of  dress,  movement,  and  mode  of  speaking,  and 
forms  her  own  conclusions  as  to  the  real  status  of  the  buyer. 
Neither  understands  the  other,  and  till  the  day  of  Working 
Girls'  Clubs,  —  a  creation  of  the  last  few  years,  —  understand- 
ing was  impossible. 

"  My  counter  is  down  in  the  basement,"  said  a  shop-girl  to 
me,  "  and  there  are  forty  others  like  me,  besides  about  forty 
little  girls.  There's  gas  and  electric  light  both,  but  there  isn't 
a  breath  of  air,  and  its  so  hot  that  after  an  hour-  or  two  your 
head  feels  baked  and  your  eyes  as  if  they  would  fall  out.  The 
dull  season, — that  is  from  spring  to  fall  —  lasts  six  months, 
and  then  we  work  nine  and  a  half  hours  and  Saturdays  thir- 
teen. The  other  six  months  we  work  eleven  hours,  and  dur- 
ing holiday  time  till  ten  and  eleven  o'clock  at  night.  We  have 
to  put  on  blue  glasses,  the  glare  of  the  electric  light  is  so 
dreadful,  but  they  don't  like  to  have  us  do  it.  The  only  com- 
fort is  you're  with  a  lot  of  others  and  don't  feel  lonesome.  I 
can't  bear  to  do  anything  alone,  no  matter  what  it  is. 

Said  another,  "  I  hope  there's  purgatory  at  least  for  some  of 
the  people  I've  had  to  submit  to.  I  think  a  woman  manager  is 
worse  than  a  man.  Just  take  the  new  superintendent.  We 
loved  the  old  one,  but  this  one  came  in  when  she  died,  and  one 
of  the  first  things  she  did  was  to  discharge  one  of  the  old  girls 
because  she  didn't  smile  enough.  Good  reason  why.  She'd 
lost  her  mother  the  week  before  and  Avasn't  likely  to  feel  much 
like  smiling.  Then  the  floor-walker  poked  under  the  counters 
and  shelves  with  a  stick,  and  routed  out  all  the  old  shoes 
we  had  tucked  away,  that  were  such  a  rest  to  our  feet,  which 
often  swell  until  moving  is  torture.     It  'most  kills  you  to  stand 


WOMEN    WORKERS    IN   TRADES. 

all  day  in  new  shoes,  but  the   floor-walker   pitched   all    the 

old  ones  out  and  said  he  wasn't  going  to  have  the  store  turned 
into  an  old-shoe  shop." 

The  average  day  of  the  average  shop-girl  is  a  monotonous 

round  of  labor.  When  "  Jim,"  who  is  only  a  Bowery  boy,  who 
sells  misfit  trousers  and  "Gentlemen's  Furnishings"  in  a  cheap 

clothing-store,  invites  her  to  a  ball,  patronized  by  numberless 
girls  and  boys  of  their  order,  who  shall  blame  the  shop-girl  for 
snatching  at  this  bit  of  brightness,  and  for  a  little  while  fancy- 
ing herself  rich  and  all  the  other  good  things  that  grace 
the  heroines  in  the  story  papers  ? 

There  are  tragedies  that  might  be  told,  but  we  will  not  let 
them  enter  here.  Vain,  silly,  light-headed,  hard-working,  good- 
hearted  little  workers!  They  will  squabble  diligently  with 
their  neighbor  at  the  counter,  and  then  sit  up  nights  with  her 
if  she  is  ill,  and  even  go  without  their  beloved  chewing-gum  in 
order  to  buy  her  some  little  luxury.  And  so  the  world  g 
on,  and  a  shop-giiTs  day  remains  unchanged,  the  story  of 
one  being  the  story  of  all  the  thousands  who  fill  this  role,  till 
the  scene  shifts  and  fresh  actors  are  on  the  stage. 

And  what  about  the  workers  in  trades  ?  Why  are  they  at 
work  ?  There  are  as  many  motives  as  trades.  For  the  most 
part  the  answer  is  simple.  They  must  earn  because  there  is  no 
one  to  earn  for  them,  and  this  is  the  great  majority.  Outside 
of  this  army  is  another, —  the  large  class  of  women  already 
provided  for  in  homes  of  their  own,  but  who  want  more 
pin-money,  and  hosts  of  married  women  who  want  means  for 
more  stylish  living  or  dress,  and  who  work  at  home  to  accom- 
plish this  very  end,  often  underbidding  their  poorer  sisters  by 
working  at  half  price  or  even  less.  With  them  we  have1  noth- 
ing to  do.  It  is  the  life  of  the  average  working-woman  wholly 
dependent  on  her  own  resources  that  we  must  know;  its  strug- 
gles, its  resources,  its  outlook  as  a  whole. 

Naturally  the  great  mass  are  needlewomen  of  all  orders.  It 
is  this  one  employment  toward  which  every  woman  left  to  light 
her  own  battle  turns  instinctivelv,  unless  she  has  had  a  training 
that  fits  her  for  something  better.     Either  she  enters  a  factory, 


260  "sweaters"  and  their  victims. 

where  the  intelligence  demanded  is  of  the  lowest  order,  as 
in  bag-making  and  kindred  industries,  or  she  takes  home  slop- 
work of  all  sorts,  from  overalls  and  jumpers  to  coarser  or  finer 
work.  For  such  work  a  sewing-machine  must  be  owned,  and  as 
to  get  one  even  on  installments  is  often  quite  beyond  the  power 
of  the  worker,  this  fact  is  taken  advantage  of  by  numbers  of 
"  sweaters,"  who  rent  cellars  called  by  courtesy  a  basements," 
and  act  as  "  middlemen,"  taking  the  work  in  great  packages 
from  the  cutter  of  the  manufacturing  house,  and  paying  the 
women  so  much  a  dozen  for  the  work  done.  The  making  of 
underclothing  and  cheap  jackets  and  cloaks  is  managed  in  the 
same  way.  .  Everything,  in  short,  that  makes  up  the  cheaper 
forms  of  clothing  falls  largely  into  the  hands  of  these  "  middle- 
men," and  often  the  women  prefer  this  form  of  employment, 
since  working  with  numbers  has  a  more  exhilarating  effect  than 
the  same  task  alone,  and  heat  and  machine  are  both  furnished. 
But  every  order  of  work  goes  on  also  in  the  tenement-houses, 
where  the  woman  who  owns  a  machine  can  take  work  di- 
rect from  the  factory. 

The  division  of  labor,  which  is  one  of  the  marked  features 
of  all  modern  work,  rules  here  no  less  than  elsewhere.  Many 
a  woman  spends  month  after  month  in  stitching  fells  till  she 
has  acquired  a  purely  mechanical  accuracy,  who  could  by  no 
possibility  either  cut,  fit,  or  make  an  entire  garment.  There  is 
always  a  dearth  of  trained  seamstresses,  who  understand  all 
forms  of  sewing,  and  for  whom  there  is  a  demand  that  is  yet 
to  be  fully  met. 

There  is  another  class,  helpless  through  no  fault  of  theirs, 
though  often  powerless  through  lack  of  training.  It  is  the 
hundreds  —  yes,  thousands  —  of  women,  widows  or  worse  than 
widows,  who  must  care  for  little  children  often  more  fortunate 
without  a  father  than  with  one.  Drunken  husbands,  who  not 
only  furnish  nothing  toward  the  family  support,  but  demand 
support  themselves,  are  worked  for  with  a  patience  that  is  a 
constant  miracle  to  all  who  watch.  Sewing  in  some  of  its 
myriad  forms  is  the  first  thought,  and  often  in  the  wretched 
dens  of  these  down-town  tenements  one  sees  embroideries  des- 


TENEMENT    HOI  3E   SEWING    w  OMEN. 


2G1 


fcinecl  for  happy  children  in  sunny  homes,  or  rid)  clonk's  whose 
velvet  and  silk  seem  a  mockery.  Poverty  is  not  infectious,  yel 
strange  germs  must  so  with  the  garments  into  which  these 

women  have  stitched  all  the  want  and  pain  horn  of  hunger  and 
cold  and  nakedness,  of  endurance  and  final  despair. 


FINISHING   BOYS'   PANTS  AT   TEN   CENTS   A   DOZEN    PAIRS. 

The  sewing-machine  is  seen  at  every  hand,  no  tenement 
being  too  foul  for  the  unhappy  creatures  who  must  earn  or 
starve,  and  this  enormous  proportion  of  workers  with  the 
needle  is  one  of  the  saddest  facts  to  be  faced  by  the  explorer 
in  these  regions.     The  investigation  made  by  the  State  Bureau 


262  IN  A  sewing-woman's  home. 

of  Labor  in  1885,  which  took  form  in  a  Keport  accessible  to 
all,  records  women  working  on  gingham  waists  for  boys  at  two 
and  a  half  cents  each,  it  being  impossible  to  make  more  than 
a  dozen  in  fourteen  hours  at  the  machine.  At  the  office  of  the 
"  Women's  Protective  Union,"  its  head,  who  has  been  familiar 
with  all  phases  of  this  work  for  thirty  years,  said  that  many 
workers  on  their  books  earned  but  twenty-five  to  fifty  cents  a 
day. 

Cloakmakers  generally  earn  from  sixty  to  seventy  cents  a 
day,  but  even  this  means  comfort  and  profusion  compared  with 
the  facts  that  were  revealed  in  a  Fourth  Ward  rookery.  Here 
in  an  old  wooden  house  given  over  to  the  lowest  uses,  in  a  room 
ten  feet  square,  low-ceiled,  and  lighted  only  by  a  single  win- 
dow, whose  panes  were  crusted  with  the  dirt  of  a  generation, 
seven  women  sat  at  work.  Three  machines  were  the  principal 
furniture.  A  small  stove  burned  fiercely,  the  close  smell  of 
red-hot  iron  hardly  dominating  the  fouler  one  of  sinks  and 
reeking  sewer-gas.  Piles  of  cloaks  were  on  the  floor,  and  the 
women,  white  and  wan,  with  cavernous  eyes  and  hands  more 
akin  to  a  skeleton's  than  to  flesh  and  blood,  bent  over  the  gar- 
ments that  would  pass  from  this  loathsome  place  saturated  with 
the  invisible  filth  furnished  as  air.  They  were  handsome 
cloaks,  lined  with  quilted  silk  or  satin,  trimmed  with  fur  or 
sealskin,  and  retailing  at  prices  from  thirty  to  seventy-five  dol- 
lars. A  teapot  stood  at  the  back  of  the  stove ;  some  cups  and 
a  loaf  of  bread,  with  a  lump  of  streaky  butter,  were  on  a  small 
table,  absorbing  their  portion  also  of  filth.  An  inner  room,  a 
mere  closet,  dark  and  even  fouler  than  the  outer  one,  held  the 
bed ;  a  mattress,  black  with  age,  lying  on  the  floor.  Here 
such  rest  as  might  be  had  was  taken  when  the  sixteen  hours  of 
work  ended,  —  sixteen  hours  of  toil  unrelieved  by  one  gleam 
of  hope  or  cheer,  the  net  result  of  this  accumulated  and  ever- 
accumulating  misery  being  $3.50  a  week.  Two  women,  using 
their  utmost  diligence,  could  finish  one  cloak  per  day,  receiving 
from  the  "  sweater,"  through  whose  hands  all  work  must  come, 
fifty  cents  each  for  a  toil  unequalled  by  any  form  of  labor  under 
the  sun,  unless  it  be  that  of  the  haggard  wretches  dressed  in 


THE  BITTER  CRY.    OF  THE    DESERVING    POOR.  2013 

men's  dot  lies  but  counted  as  female  Laborers  in  Belgian  mines. 

They  cannot  stop,  they  dare  not  stop,  to  think  of  other  methods 
of  earning.     They  are  what  is  Left   of   untrained,  hopelessly 

ignorant  lives,  clinging  to  these  lives  with  a  tenacity  hardly 
higher  in  intelligence  than  that  of  the  limpet  on  the  rock,  but 
turning  to  one  with  lustreless  eyes  and  blank  faces,  asking  only 
the  one  question,  —  "  Lord,  how  long  \  " 

I  recall  Avords  spoken  to  me  by  a  worker  in  whose  life  hope 
Avas  dead :  — 

"I've  worked  eleven  years,"  she  said.  "I've  tried  five 
trades  with  my  needle  and  machine.  My  shortest  day  has  been 
fourteen  hours,  for  I  had  the  children  and  they  had  to  be  fed. 
There's  not  one  of  these  trades  that  I  don't  know  well.  It  isn't 
work  that  I've  any  trouble  in  getting.  It's  wages.  Five  years 
ago  I  could  earn  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  day,  and  Ave  Avere  com- 
fortable. Then  it  began  to  go  down, — a  dollar  and  a  quarter, 
then  a  dollar.  There  it  stopped  awhile,  and  I  got  used  to  that, 
and  could  even  get  some  remains  of  comfort  out  of  it.  I  had 
to  plan  to  the  last  half  cent.  We  Avent  cold  often,  but  Ave  Avere 
never  hungry.  But  then  it  fell  again,  —  to  ninety  cents,  to 
eighty-five.  For  a  year  the  best  that  I  can  do  I  have  earned 
not  over  eighty  cents  a  day,  —  sometimes  only  seventy-five. 
I'm  sixty-two  years  old.  I  can't  learn  new  ways.  I  am  strong. 
I  always  Avas  strong.  I  run  the  machine  fourteen  hours  a  day. 
with  just  the  stoppings  that  have  to  be  made  to  get  the  Avork 
ready.  I've  neArer  asked  a  man  ahVe  for  a  penny  beyond  Avhat 
my  own  hands  can  earn,  and  I  don't  Avant  it.  I  suppose  the 
Lord  knows  Avhat  it  all  means.  It's  His  world,  and  His  child- 
ren in  it,  and  I've  kept  myself  from  going  crazy  many  a  time 
by  saying  it  Avas  His  world,  and  that  somehow  it  must  all  come 
right  in  the  end.  But  I  don't  believe  it  any  more.  He's  for- 
gotten. There's  nothing  left  but  men  that  live  to  grind  the 
faces  of  the  poor ;  that  chuckle  Avhen  they  find  a  new  way  of 
making  a  cent  or  two  more  a  Aveek  out  of  starving  women  and 
children.  I  never  thought  I  should  feel  so ;  I  don't  know  my- 
self ;  but  I  tell  you  I'm  ready  for  murder  Avhen  I  think  of  these 
men.     If  there's  no  justice  above,  it  isn't  quite  dead  below  ;  and 


264 


A   DAY   OF   RETRIBUTION   COMING. 


if  men  with  money  will  not  heed,  the  men  and  the  women  with- 
out money  will  rise  some  day.  How  ?  I  don't  know.  We've 
no  time  to  plan,  and  we're  too  tired  to  think ;  but  it's  coming 


«_,,!    mm 


A  BLIND   TAILORESS   AND   HER  FAMILY. 


somehow,  and  I'm  not  ashamed  to  say  I'll  join  in  if  I  live  to 
see  it  come.  It's  seas  of  tears  that  these  men  sail  on.  It's  our 
life-blood  they  drink,  and  our  flesh  that  they  eat." 

How  do  they  live  on  such  earnings?     Live  is  hardly  the 


ll<>\\    THE    POOR    i.l\  E.  865 

word.  Tea  is  their  chief  dependence;  boiled  to  extract  the  last 
atom  of  strength.  This  with  baker's  bread,  most  often  butter- 
Less,  is  their  food  and  that  of  such  children  as  may  be  theirs  to 
support. 

All  coal  is  bought  by  the  scuttle,  a  scuttle  of  medium  size 
counting  as  twelve  cents'  worth,  thus  much  more  than  doubling 
the  cost  per  ton.  Wood  by  the  bundle  and  oil  by  the  quart 
give  the  utmost  margin  of  profit  to  the  seller,  and  the  same  fad 
applies  to  all  provisions  sold.  In  no  case  save  one  where  the 
mother  had  learned  that  cabbage-water  can  form  the  basis  for 
a  nourishing  and  very  palatable  soup,  was  there  the  faintest 
gleam  of  understanding  that  the  same  amount  of  money  could 
furnish  a  more  varied,  more  savory,  and  more  nourishing  regi- 
men. 

That  the  knowledge  of  cheap  and  savory  preparation  of 
food  would  soon  have  its  effect  on  the  percentage  of  drunk- 
ards no  one  can  question.  Take  the  case  of  a  laboring  man 
among  the  lower  classes,  with  a  family  to  provide  for.  What 
does -daily  bread "  mean  to  him \  Minute  knowledge  of  this 
sort  must  come  from  patient  waiting  and  watching  as  one 
can,  rather  than  from  any  systematized  observation.  The 
poor  resent  bitterly  —  and  with  justice — any  apparent  inter- 
ference or  spying,  and  only  as  one  comes  to  know  them  well 
can  anything  but  the  most  outside  details  of  their  life  be 
obtained.  In  the  matter  of  food  there  is  an  especial  touchiness 
and  testiness,  every  woman  being  convinced  that  to  cook  well 
is  the  birthright  of  all  women.  I  have  found  the  same  con- 
viction as  solidly  implanted  in  far  higher  grades  of  society, 
and  it  may  be  classed  as  one  of  the  most  firmly-seated  of 
popular  delusions  that  every  woman  keeps  house  as  instinc- 
tively and  surely,  when  her  time  comes,  as  a  duck  takes  to 
water. 

Such  was  the  faith  of  Xorah  Boylan,  tenant  of  half  the 
third  floor  in  a  tenement-house  six  stories  hi^h  and  swarm- 
ing  from  basement  to  attic,  forty  children  making  it  hideous 
with  the  screaming  and  wrangling  of  incessant  fights,  while  in 
and  over  all  rested  the  penetrating,  sickening  u  tenement-house 


266  norah's  wail. 

smell,"  not  to  be  drowned  by  steam  of  washing  or  scent  of 
food.  Norah's  tongue  was  ready  with  the  complaint  of  "hard 
times";  and  she  faced  me  now  with  hands  on  her  hips  and  a 
generally  belligerent  expression  :  "  An'  shure,  ma'am,  ye  know 
yerself  'tis  only  a  dollar  a  day  he's  been  earnin'  this  many  a 
day,  an'  thankful  enough  to  git  that,  wid  Mike  overhead 
wearin'  his  tongue  out  wid  askin'  for  work  here  an'  there  an' 
everywhere.  An'  how'll  we  live  on  that,  an'  the  rint  due 
reg'lar,  an'  the  spalpeen  of  an  agent  poppin'  in  his  ugly  face 
an'  off  wid  the  bit  o'  money,  no  matter  how  bare  the  dish  is  ? 
Bad  'cess  to  him !  says  I,  an'  I'd  like  to  have  him  hungered 
once  an'  know  how  it  feels.  Shure  an'  if  I  hadn't  the  washin' 
we'd  be  on  the  street  this  day." 

"What  do  you  live  on,  ISTorah?" 

"Is  it  'live,'  do  ye  say?  Thin  I  could  hardly  tell.  It's 
mate  an'  petatys  an'  tay,  an'  Pat  will  have  his  glass.  He's 
sober  enough  —  not  like  Mike  above,  that's  off  on  his  sprees 
ivery  month ;  but  now  we  don't  be  gettin'  the  same  as  we  used. 
Pat  says  there's  that  bad  cravin'  in  him  that  only  the  whiskey'll 
stop.  It's  tin  dollars  a  month  rint  for  the  rooms,  an'  that's  two 
an'  a  half  a  week  steady ;  an'  there's  only  seven  an'  a  half  left 
for  the  five  mouths  that  must  be  fed,  an'  the  fire  an'  all,  for  I 
can't  get  more'n  the  four  dollars  for  me  washin'.  It's  the  mate 
ye  must  have  to  put  strength  in  ye,  an'  Pat  would  be  havin'  it 
three  times  a  day,  an'  now  it's  but  once  he  can ;  an'  that's  why 
he's  afther  the  whiskey  to  stop  the  cravin'.  The  childer  an' 
meself  has  mostly  tay,  an'  it's  all  that  kapes  us  up.  Sometimes 
we  has  mate,  but  not  often,  God  knows." 

"  How  do  you  cook  your  meat,  Eorah ?" 

Norah  looked  at  me  suspiciously :  "  Shure,  the  bit  we  get 
don't  take  long.  I  puts  it  in  the  pan  an'  let's  it  fry  till  we're 
ready.  Poor  folks  can't  have  much  roastin'  nor  fine  doin's. 
An'  by  that  token  it's  time  it  was  on  now,  if  you  don't  mind, 
ma'am.  The  childer  will  be  in  from  school,  an'  they  must 
eat  an'  get  back." 

"  I  am  going  in  a  few  moments,  Norah.     Go  right  on." 

Norah  moved  aside  her  clothes-boiler,  drew  a  frying-pan 


pat's  bill  OF  fare.  207 

from  her  closet,  put  in  a  lump  of  yellow  tat  and  laid  in  a  piece 
of  coarse  beef  some  two  pounds  in  weight.  A  loaf  <>i"  bread 
came  next,  and  was  cut  up,  its  peculiar  white  color  indicating 
plainly  what  share  alum  had  had  in  making  the  lightness  to 

which  she  called  my  attention.  A  handful  of  tea  went  into 
the  tall  tin  teapot,  which  was  filled  from  the  kettle  at  the 
back  of  the  stove. 

"  That  isn't  boiling  water,  is  it  ?"  I  ventured. 

"Och!  shure  it'll  bile  fast  enough,  niver  fear."  Xorah  an- 
swered indifferently,  as  she  pulled  open  the  draughts  and  soon 
had  the  top  of  the  stove  red  hot.  The  steak  lay  in  its  bed  of 
fat,  scorching  peacefully,  while  the  tea  boiled,  giving  off  a  rank 
and  herby  smell. 

"  Pat  doesn't  get  home  to  dinner,  then,  Koran  ? " 

"  There's  times  he  does,  but  mostly  not.  He  likes  a  hot  bite 
an'  sup,  but  it's  too  far  off.  There's  live  min  goes  from  this 
flure  together,  an'  a  pailful  for  each — bread  an'  coffee  mostly, 
an'  a  bit  o'  bacon  for  some.  It's  a  hot  supper  I  used  to  be  git- 
tin'  him,  but  the  times  is  too  hard,  an'  we're  lucky  if  we  can 
have  our  tay  an'  bread,  an'  molasses  may  be  for  the  children. 
Many's  the  day  I  wish  meself  back  in  ould  Ireland." 

As  she  talked,  the  children  came  rushing  up  the  stairs,  pale- 
faced  and  slender ;  and  I  took  my  leave,  burning  to  speak,  yet 
knowing  it  useless.  Fried  boot-heel  would  have  been  as  nour- 
ishing and  as  toothsome  as  that  steak,  and  boiled  boot-heel  as 
desirable  as  and  far  less  harmful  a  drink  than  the  tea,  yet  any 
word  of  suggestion  would  have  roused  the  quick  Irish  temper 
to  fever-heat. 

"  It's  Xorah  can  cook  equal  to  yerself,"  she  once  exclaimed 
to  me  with  pride,  as  she  emptied  a  black  and  smoking  mass 
into  a  dish ;  and  these  methods  certainly  cannot  be  said  to  be 
difficult  to  follow. 

The  wives  and  mothers  anions  the  lower  laboring  classes 
have  usually  in  their  younger  days  been  servants,  and  still  "go 
out  to  day's  work";  but  no  matter  now  numerous  the  family, 
such  life  for  any  daughter  is  despised  and  discouraged  from  the 
beginning.     Work  in  a  bag-factory  or  any  one  of  the  thousand 


268  WHAT   MAKES   WRETCHED   HOMES. 

— but  to  the  employes  profitless  —  industries  of  a  great  city  is 
eagerly  sought,  and  hardships  cheerfully  endured  which  if  en- 
forced by  a  mistress  would  lead  to  riot.  To  be  a  shop-girl 
seems  the  highest  ambition.  To  have  dress  and  hair  and  ex- 
pression a  frowsy  and  pitiful  copy  of  the  latest  Fifth  Avenue 
ridiculousness ;  to  flirt  with  shop-boys  as  feeble-minded  and 
brainless  as  themselves ;  and  to  marry  as  quickly  as  possible,  are 
the  aims  of  all.  Then  come  more  wretched,  thriftless,  ill-man- 
aged homes,  and  their  natural  results  in  drunken  husbands  and 
vicious  children ;  and  so  the  round  goes  on,  the  circle  widening 
year  by  year  till  its  circumference  touches  every  class  in  soci- 
ety, and  would  make  our  great  cities  almost  what  sober  coun- 
try-folk believe  them,  —  "  seas  of  iniquity." 

Philanthropists  may  urge  what  reforms  they  will,  —  less 
crowding,  purer  air,  better  sanitary  regulations ;  but  this  ques- 
tion of  food  underlies  all.  A  food  easily  procured,  sufficiently 
palatable  to  ensure  no  dissatisfaction  and  demanding  no  inge- 
nuity of  preparation,  would  seem  the  ideal  diet  of  the  poor,  if 
they  could  be  made  to  adopt  it. 

"  Beans !  "  said  one  indignant  soul.  "  ^Vhat  time  have  I  to 
think  of  beans,  or  what  money  to  buy  coal  to  cook  'em  (  What 
you'd  want  if  you  sat  over  a  machine  fourteen  hours  a  day 
would  be  tea  like  lye  to  put  a  backbone  in  you.  That's  why 
we  have  tea  always  in  the  pot,  and  it  don't  make  much  odds 
what's  with  it.  A  slice  of  bread  is  about  all.  Once  in  a  while 
you  get  ragin',  tearin'  hungry.  Seems  as  if  you'd  swallow  a 
teapot  or  anything  handy  to  fill  up  like,  but  that  ain't  often  — 
lucky  for  us ! " 

A  grade  beyond  them  is  hardly  in  better  condition,  and 
straight  through  the  long  list  of  those  who  use  the  needle  it  is 
much  the  same  story. 

"When  you've  sat  all  day  at  the  machine,  you  don't  want 
much,"  said  one,  —  a  little  Englishwoman,  whose  husband,  after 
a  year  or  two  of  wife-beating  and  the  other  indulgences  of  a 
free-born  Englishman  inclined  to  a  drop  too  much,  had,  fortu- 
nately for  her,  been  killed  in  a  drunken  brawl.  "  Tea  do  'arten 
you  up  a  bit  an'  make  you  fitter  to  go  on,  an'  that's  what  we 


WOMEN    WHO    II.WK    known    "BETTER    DATS.  269 

must  'ave  if  we're  to  work  fourteen  hours  steady.  A  bit  of 
bread  with  it,  an'  you  can  clo  very  well,  though  it's  'ard  on  the 
children." 

This  is  the  lowest  depth.     Above  it  as  to  intelligence  ie1  as 
take  a  mother  and  daughter,  the  latter  a   stitcher  of  corset 
covers  and  tine  night-dresses,  and  the  mother  incapacitated  by 

rheumatism  from  much  more  than  basting  and  finishing.  Doth 
had  known  ''better  days," — that  saddest  of  formulas;  and  when 
these  suddenly  ended  there  came  a  period  of  bewildered  help- 
lessness in  which  the  widow  felt  that  respectability  like  hers 
must  know  no  compromise,  and  that  any  step  that  would 
involve  her  being  "talked  about"  was  a  step  toward  destruc- 
tion. She  must  live  on  a  decent  street,  in  a  house  where  she 
need  not  be  ashamed  to  have  lice  relations  come,  and  she  did 
till  earnings  had  lessened  from  a  dollar  and  a  half  to  eighty- 
five  cents  a  day,  on  which  the  two  must  live.  Far  over 
toward  the  North  River,  on  the  first  floor  of  a  great  tenement- 
house  inhabited  chiefly  by  the  better  class  of  Irish,  she  took 
two  rooms, —  one  a  mere  closet  where  the  bed  could  stand, — 
bestowed  in  them  such  furniture  as  remained,  and  at  fifty, 
with  no  clew  left  that  any  friend  could  trace,  began  the  fight 
for  bread.  The  mother  watched  every  penny  of  the  poor 
little  earnings  and  extracted  all  the  comfort  that  lay  in  their 
compass.  She  had  kept  an  account  of  their  weekly  expenses 
and  allowed  me  to  run  over  the  items. 

"  I  have  to  see  where  the  money  goes  to,"  she  said  apolo- 
getically; "else  I  should  get  clean  distracted  thinking  that  I 
might  have  saved  a  penny  here  or  a  penny  there.  Now,  here 
is  last  month.  Twenty-seven  working  days,  and  that  makes 
$22.95.  Out  of  that  had  to  come  $10  for  rent.  We  lay  that 
aside  every  week  and  never  touch  it  whatever  happens,  be- 
cause that  is  to  keep  us  from  being  put  out  on  the  street. 
Now  you  see  there  is  §12.95  left  for  provisions  and  coal  and 
light  and  clothes.  How  do  you  suppose  we  do  it,  —  for  it  isn't 
much  for  two  people,  now,  is  it  3  We've  a  little  oil  stove  that 
saves  coal,  for  I  boil  the  kettle  on  it  and  cook  bits  of  things,  — 
soup   for  one,   for  Ave  found  soup   was  very  nourishing  and 


270         WORKING  WOMEN'S  STRUGGLE  FOR  SUBSISTENCE. 


cheaper  than  meat.  "We  only  have  a  bit  of  meat  once  a  week 
or  so,  and  I  used  to  miss  it,  but  now  I  don't  mind.  This 
is  the  list  just  as  I  put  it  down. 


Sugar, $  .23 

Tomatoes, 07 

Potatoes, 05 

Tea, 15 

Butter, 30 

Bread, 12 

Coal, 12 

Milk, 15 

Clams, 10 


Forward, 


$1.29 


Brought  up, 

$1.29 

Oil,  . 

.15 

Newspaper,     . 

.01 

Clams, 

.10 

Potatoes, 

.05 

Cabbage, 

.05 

Bread, 

.07 

Flour,      . 

.15 

Rolls,       . 

.03 

Total,     . 

$1.90 

"This  week  was  an  expensive  one, — a  little  more  so  than 
usual,  because  I  bought  a  whole  pound  of  butter  at  once,  but 
then  it  will  last  well  into  next  week.  Sharpening  the  scissors, 
too,  took  five  cents,  but  then  we  made  that  up  in  not  having 
to  get  kindling,  for  a  neighbor's  boy  brought  us  some  nice  bits 
from  the  building  down  the  street.  I  try  to  save  on  the  food, 
but  I  can't  seem  to  get  it  less  than  twelve  cents  a  day  apiece, 
do  what  I  will.  So  that  is  $7.44  a  month,  and  that  leaves 
$5.51,  and  out  of  that  come  car-fares  when  Emmy  has  to  go 
down  town.  Last  month  it  took  sixty  cents  a  week  for  them, 
and  then  Emmy  had  to  have  shoes,  $1.50.  So  you  see  there 
wasn't  much  margin.  I  might  leave  out  the  paper,  but  we  do 
want  to  see  one  once  in  a  while.  Last  month  Emmy  got  two 
remnants  for  $1.80,  and  I  made  her  a  dress  that  looked  very 
well,  but  both  of  us  underneath  are  nothing  but  patchwork. 
Then  we  have  to  have  soap  and  all  that  for  the  washing,  and 
coal.  Coal  is  the  worst  thing,  for  it  costs  twelve  cents  a 
scuttle,  and  I'm  always  trying  to  get  ahead  enough  to  buy  a 
quarter  of  a  ton  at  once,  but  can't.  There's  a  place  here  to 
keep  it,  but  none  of  us  in  the  house  ever  earn  enough  to  put 
anything  in  it.  We  earn  little  enough ;  but  wages  are  going 
lower  and  lower,  seems  to  me,  and  where  they  will  stop  the 
Lord  only  knows." 

This  is  untrained  labor,  and  thus  more  helpless  than  those 


WHERE   SUNSHINE    NEVER    KNTERS. 


271 


who  have  been  taught  a   regular  trade.     But  it  represents  a 
large  portion  of  New  York's  working  women. 


When  the  great 
Bridge  —  always  written 
with   a   capita]    letter   to 

signify  how  far  it  is  be- 
yond and  above  all  other 
bridges    yet    produced  — 

was  outlined,  in  the  final 
plan  which  doomed  every 
building  on  the  site  of  its 
great  piers  to  destruction. 
Dover   street   at   the   end 


USDKIl   THE   SHADOW    OF   THE   GREAT    BRIDGE 

nearest  Franklin  Square  found  itself  almost  wiped  out.  Such 
houses  as  remained  were  left  in  shadow,  and  most  of  all  those 
nearest  the  towering  piers. 

Under  the  great  Bridge  stands  a  tenement-house  so  shad- 
dowed  by  the   vast   structure   that,  save  at   mid-day,  natural 


272  TURNING  NIGHT  INTO  DAY. 

light  barely  penetrates  it.  Sunshine  has  no  place  in  these 
rooms,  which  no  enforced  laws  have  made  decent,  and  where 
occasional  individual  effort  has  small  power  against  the  un- 
speakable filth  ruling  in  tangible  and  intangible  forms,  sink 
and  sewer  and  closet  uniting  in  a  common  and  all-pervading 
stench.  The  chance  visitor  has  sometimes  to  rush  to  the 
outer  air,  deathly  sick  and  faint  at  even  a  breath  of  this  noisome- 
ness.  The  most  determined  one  seems  inclined  to  burn  every 
garment  worn  during  such  quest.  The  house  had  been  dark 
before,  but  little  by  little,  as  the  blocks  of  granite  were  put 
into  place  and  the  great  pier  grew,  the  sunshine  vanished,  and 
seeing  at  all  save  by  gaslight  was  well-nigh  impossible.  Only 
at  mid-day  could  the  sun's  rays  find  entrance  at  any  point, 
and  it  grew  worse  rather  than  better,  as  the  forlorn  women 
who  do  washing  for  the  offices  in  the  business  streets  close  at 
hand  strung  their  lines  of  towels  in  the  vain  hope  that  the  sun 
would  dry  and  air  sweeten  them. 

"  There's  a  good  time  for  us  at  last,"  said  one  of  the  tenants 
when  this  had  gone  on  for  months.  "  We've  light  enough  now, 
thank  God,  an'  one  that'll  stay,  I'm  thinkin'." 

It  has  stayed.  All  night  long  the  glare  of  street  and  Bridge 
electric  lights,  cold  and  blinding,  is  on  every  foot  of  the  space 
below,  and  their  rays  are  the  substitute  for  sunshine,  shut  out 
once  for  all  from  these  dismal  rooms  till  the  pier  falls,  as  the 
inhabitants  pray  sometimes  that  it  may,  with  small  thought 
that  their  own  destruction  would  be  equally  certain.  In  this 
tenement-house  the  day's  work  has  ceased  to  be  the  day's  work, 
for,  honest  or  thieving,  all  alike  do  their  allotted  work  by  night 
and  sleep  by  day.  The  women  who  cannot  afford  the  gas  or 
oil  that  must  burn  if  they  work  in  the  daytime  sleep  while  day 
lasts;  and  when  night  comes,  and  the  searching  rays  of  the 
electric  light  penetrates  every  corner  of  their  shadowy  rooms, 
turn  to  the  toil  by  which  their  bread  is  won.  Heavy-eyed 
women  toil  at  the  washboard  or  run  the  sewing-machine,  and 
when  sunrise  has  come  and  the  East  Kiver  and  the  beautiful 
harbor  are  aflame  with  color,  the  light  for  these  dwellings  is 
extinguished  and  their  night  begins. 


DARK    AND    DISMAL    Mo.MES.  373 

"I  used  to  look  at  the  big  stones  of  the  pier  swinging  into 
place,"  said  one  of  the  workers  on  the  top  floor,  a  trousers 
stitcher  and  finisher;  "but  I  never  thought  wli.it  they  would 
do  in  the  end.    It  got  a  little  darker  and  a  little  darker,  and  al 

last  it  was  more  than  I  could  do  to  see.  So  we  were  all  glad 
enough  to  have  the  electric  light  shine  into  our  rooms,  though 
it's  blinding  and  sort  of  hard,  and  we  would  like  to  see  the  sun 
once  in  a  while.  But  I  go  out  for  that,  and  it's  1  tetter  than 
nothing." 

In  one  of  these  rooms  —  clean,  if  cleanliness  were  possible 
where  walls  and  ceiling-  and  every  plank  and  beam  reek  with 
the  foulness  from  sewer  and  closet  —  three  women  were  at 
work  on  overalls.  Two  machines  were  placed  directly  under 
the  windows,  to  obtain  every  ray  of  light.  A  small  stove;  the 
inevitable  teapot  steaming  at  the  back;  a  table  with  cups  and 
saucers  and  a  loaf  of  bread  still  uncut ;  and  a  small  dresser  in 
one  corner,  in  which  a  few  dishes  were  ranged,  completed  the 
furniture.  A  sickly  geranium  grew  in  an  old  tomato-can,  but 
save  for  this  no  attempt  of  adornment  of  any  sort  had  been 
made.  In  this  respect  it  differed  from  other  rooms  in  the  same 
rookery,  in  some  of  which  cheap  colored  prints  were  pinned  up, 
and  in  one  room  one  side  had  been  decorated  with  all  the  trade- 
marks peeled  from  the  goods  on  which  the  family  worked. 
But  in  the  dismal  room  occupied  by  the  three  overall-makers 
there  was  no  time  for  even  such  attempts  at  betterment.  The 
machines  ran  on  as  I  talked  with  the  workers,  with  only  a 
momentary  pause  as  interest  deepened,  and  one  woman  nodded 
confirmation  to  the  statement  of  another. 

"You  see  we  all  live  together  now,"  one  of  the  women  said, 
as  her  fingers  flew  over  the  coarse  button  holes  she  was  mak- 
ing in  the  waistband  and  flaps  of  some  overalls.  iw  We  each 
had  a  room  to  ourselves,  for  all  of  us  is  widows  that  had  child- 
ren to  mind.  But  the  fever  took  them  all  but  one  that's  out 
selling  papers,  and  so  we  put  our  heads  together  at  last  and  said 
we'd  be  more  sensible  if  we  clubbed  machines  and  all.  You'd 
think   we'd  move  to  a  better  place,   but   we're   never  ahead 

enough  to  pay  for  moving  even  our  bits  of  things,  and  perhaps 
lr 


274  HOW   POOR   SEWING-WOMEN   LIVE. 

you  won't  believe  it,  but  we're  used  to  this  and  hate  to  change. 
I've  had  a  better  one  and  good  furniture  once,  for  my  husband 
was  mate  on  a  tug  and  earned  first-rate.  But  he  took  to  drink 
and  sold  everything  bit  by  bit,  and  always  getting  worse  and 
worse,  till  at  last  he  got  hurt  in  a  fight  and  died  next  day  in 
hospital.  I  went  into  a  necktie  place  on  Allen  Street  for  a 
while.  Mary,  over  there,  was  there,  too.  Her  husband  was  a 
bricklayer  and  got  good  wages,  but  he  went  with  drink,  too, 
and  so  did  Hannah's.  We  know  all  about  it,  all  of  us.  This  is 
cheap  rent.  We  pay  five  dollars  a  month,  and  if  it  was  lighter 
and  we  didn't  have  to  have  such  smells  we  would  do  very  well. 
Overalls  are  up  now,  though  why,  the  Lord  only  knows,  or 
why  they  go  up  and  then  go  down.  But  we  get  a  dollar  a 
dozen  on  these,  and  I  can  do  ten  a  day  and  have  done  a  dozen 
by  working  fourteen  hours.  It  needs  a  heavy  machine,  and 
they  do  take  the  backbone  out  of  one." 

The  other  women  nodded.  It  was  plain  that  they  held  the 
same  conviction. 

"  You  sleep  like  the  dead  when  you're  through  ;  that's  one 
comfort,"  she  went  on.  "  It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  they  weren't 
always  cutting  under  you.  I  learned  my  trade  of  tailoring  reg- 
ularly, as  soon  as  I  found  Tim  wouldn't  be  any  dependence, 
and  was  going  to  send  the  children  to  school  and  keep  things 
decent.  But  then  came  the  German  women  offering  to  do  work 
at  half  the  rate,  and  then  the  Italians,  and  the  Polish  Jews  that 
don't  mind  living  like  pigs,  and  that  ended  it.  With  all  the 
cuts  I  don't  see  how  anybody  keeps  soul  and  body  together." 

"  We  don't,"  one  of  the  other  woman  said,  turning  suddenly. 
"  I  got  rid  o'  my  soul  long  ago,  such  as  't  was.  Who's  got 
time  to  think  about  souls,  grinding  away  here  fourteen 
hours  a  day  to  turn  out  contract  goods  ?  'Taint  souls  that 
count.  It's  bodies  that  can  be  driven,  an'  half  starved  an' 
driven  still,  till  they  drop  in  their  tracks.  I'd  try  the  river,  if 
I  wasn't  driving  to  pay  a  doctor's  bill  for  my  three  that  went 
with  the  fever.  Before  that  I  was  driving  to  put  food  into 
their  mouths.  I  never  owed  a  cent  to  no  man.  I've  been 
honest,  an'  paid  as  I  went,  an'  done  a  good  turn  when  I  could. 


DRIVEN   TO    DESPERATION. 


75 


If  I'd  chosen  the  other  thing  while  I'd  a  pretty  face  of  my 
own,  I'd  V  had  case  and  comfort  an'  a  quick  death.  The  river's 
the  best  place  I'm  thinking,  for  them  that  wants  ease.  Such 
lite  as  this  isn't  living:." 


I.N    A    TOOK    SEWING    WOMAN  S    HOME. 


"  She  don't  mean  it,"  the  first  speaker  said  apologetically. 
"  She  knows  there's  better  times  ahead.'' 

"  Yes,  the  kind  you'll  find  in  the  next  room.  Take  a 
look  in  there,  ma'am,  an'  then  tell  me  what  we're  going  to 
do." 

One  look  into  the  dark  tireless  room  was  enough.  A  pan- 
taloon-maker sat  there,  huddled  in  an  old  shawl,  and  finishing 
the  last  of  a  dozen  which,  when  taken  back,  would  give  her 
money  for  fire  and  food.      She  had  been  ill  for  three  days. 


276  A  BITTER   CRY. 

The  bed  was  an  old  mattress  on  a  dry-goods  box  in  the  corner, 
and,  save  for  the  chair  on  which  she  sat,  and  the  stove,  the 
room  was  empty. 

"  Even  that,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  at  the  miserable  bed, 
u  is  more  than  I  had  for  a  good  while.  I  pawned  everything 
before  my  husband  died,  except  the  machine.  I  couldn't  make 
but  twenty -two  cents  a  pair  on  the  pants,  an'  as  long  as  he 
could  hold  up  he  did  the  pressing.  With  him  to  help  a  little  I 
made  three  pair  a  day.  That  seems  little,  but  there  was  so 
many  pieces  to  each  pair, — side  an'  watch  an'  pistol  pockets, 
buckle-strap,  waistband,  an'  bottom  facings  and  lap ;  six  but- 
tonholes an'. nine  buttons.  We  lived  —  I  don't  know  just  how 
we  lived.  He  was  going  in  consumption  an'  very  set  about  it. 
'  I'll  have  no  medicine  an'  no  doctor  to  make  me  hang  an' 
drag  along,'  he  says.  '  I've  got  to  go,  an'  I  know  it,  an'  I'll  do 
it  as  fast  as  I  can.'  He  was  Scotch,  an'  took  his  porridge  to  the 
last,  but  I  came  to  loathe  the  sight  of  it.  He  could  live  on  six 
cents  a  day.  I  couldn't.  '  I'm  the  kind  for  your  contractors,' 
he'd  say.  'It's  a  glorious  country,  an'  the  rich'll  be  richer  yet 
when  there's  more  like  me.'  He  didn't  mind  what  he  said,  an' 
when  a  Bible-reader  put  her  head  in  one  day,  —  '  Come  in,'  he 
says.  '  My  wife's  working  for  a  Christian  contractor  at  sixty- 
six  cents  a  day,  an'  I'm  what's  left  of  another  Christian's  deal- 
ings with  me,  keeping  me  as  a  packer  in  a  damp  basement  and 
no  fire.  Come  in,  an'  let's  see  what  your  Christianity  has  to 
say  about  it.'  He  scared  her,  his  eyes  was  so  shiny,  an'  he 
most  gone  then.  But  there's  many  a  one  that  doesn't  go  over 
fifty  cents.a  week  for  what  she'll  eat.  God  help  them  that's 
starving  us  all  by  bits,  if  there  is  a  God ;  but  I'm  doubtin'  it, 
else  why  don't  things  get  better,  an'  not  always  worse  an' 
worse." 

Outside  of  the  army  of  needlewomen  come  the  washers 
and  ir oners,  who  laundry  shirts  and  underwear,  whose  work  is 
of  the  most  exhausting  order,  who  "  lean  hard  "  on  the  iron, 
and  in  time  become  the  victims  of  diseases  resulting  from  ten 
hours  a  day  of  this  "  leaning  hard,"  and  who  complain  bitterly 
that  prisons  and  reformatories  underbid  them  and  keep  wages 


LIVES   wrnioi  T   HOPE. 


m 


down.  It  is  quite  true.  Convict  Labor,  here  as  elsewhere,  is 
the  foe  of  the  earnest  worker,  and  complicates  a  problem  al- 
ready sufficiently  complicated.  There  is  a  constantly  increas- 
incr  armv  of  scrub  women  who  clean  the  floors  of  offices  and 


A   NIGHT   SCRUB   WOMAN  S   HOME. 


public  buildings  at  night  for  a  pittance,  whose  life  is  of  the 
hardest. 

However  conditions  might  differ,  the  final  word  was  always 
the  same,  and  it  stands  as  the  summary  of  the  life  that  is  lived 
from  day  to  day  by  these  workers,  —  "Never  better;  always 
worse  and  worse."  The  shadow  of  the  great  pier  seems  the 
natural  home  of  these  souls  who  have  forgotten  sunshine  and 
lost  hope  and  faitli  in  anything  better  to  come.  It  lingers 
here  and  there.     It  looked  from  the  steady  eyes  of  some  of 


278  LABOR   THAT   IS   A   CURSE. 

these  workers,  who  smiled  a  wan  smile  at  the  memory  of  old 
brightness.  It  lingers  in  many  a  patient  face  bending  over 
weary  seams,  and  waiting  for  a  better  day  to  come.  Will  it 
come,  and  when  ? 

I  turn  at  last  from  these  women,  whose  eyes  still  follow  me, 
filled  with  mute  questions  of  what  can  be  done.  Of  all  ages 
and  nations  and  creeds  ;  of  all  degrees  of  ignorance  and  preju- 
dice and  stupidity ;  hampered  by  every  condition  of  birth  and 
training ;  powerless  to  rise  beyond  them  till  obstacles  are  re- 
moved, —  the  great  city  holds  them  all :  "  the  great,  foul  city, 
rattling,  growling,  smoking,  stinking,  —  a  ghastly  heap  of  fer- 
menting brickwork,  pouring  out  poison  at  every  pore." 

We  pack  the  poor  away  in  tenements  crowded  and  foul  be- 
yond anything  known  even  to  London,  whose  "  Bitter  Cry " 
had  less  reason  than  ours ;  and  we  have  taken  excellent  care 
that  no  foot  of  ground  shall  remain  that  might  mean  breath- 
ing-space, or  free  sport  of  child,  or  any  green  growing  thing. 
Grass  pushes  its  way  here  and  there,  but  for  this  army  of 
weary  workers  it  is  only  something  that  at  last  they  may  lie 
under,  never  upon.  There  is  no  pause  in  the  march,  where,  as 
one  and  another  drops  out,  the  gap  fills  instantly ;  every 
alley  and  by-way  holding  unending  substitutes.  It  is  not 
labor  that  profiteth,  for  body  and  soul  are  alike  starved.  It  is 
labor  in  its  basest,  most  degrading  form  ;  labor  that  is  a  curse 
and  never  a  blessing,  as  true  work  may  be  and  is.  It  blinds 
the  eyes.  It  steals  away  joy.  It  blunts  all  power  Avhether  of 
hope  or  faith.  It  wrecks  the  body  and  it  starves  the  soul.  It 
is  waste  and  only  waste ;  nor  can  it,  below  ground  or  above, 
hold  fructifying  power  for  any  human  soul. 

It  is  as  student,  not  as  professional  philanthropist,  that  I 
write ;  and  the  years  that  have  brought  experience  have  also 
brought  a  conviction,  sharpened  by  every  fresh  series  of  facts, 
that  no  words,  no  matter  what  fire  of  fervor  may  lie  behind, 
can  make  plain  the  sorrow  of  the  poor. 


CHAPTEE    XHI. 

HOSPITAL  LIFE  IX  NEW  YORK  -  A  TOUR  THROUGH  THE 
WARDS  OF  OLD  BELLEVUE  —  AFFECTING  SCENES  —  THE 
MORGUE   AND   ITS   SILENT   OCCUPANTS 

Wealth  and  Misery  Side  by  Side— Training  Schools  for  Nurses— A  "Hurry" 
Call  — The  Ambulance  Service  — Prejudice  against  Hospitals  — A  Place 
where  the  Doctors  Cut  up  Folks  Alive  — Taken  to  the  Dead-House — 
"  Soon  they  will  be  Cuttin'  him  up  "  —  Etherizing  a  Patient  — A  Painless 
and  Bloodless  Operation  — A  Patient  Little  Sufferer  —  Ministering  Angels 
—  Cutting  off  a  Leg  in  Fifteen  Seconds— A  Swift  Amputation  —  Miracu- 
lous Skill  — Thanking  the  Doctor  for  Hastening  the  End— "  Those  Last 
Precious.  Painless  Hours  "— A  Child's  Idea  of  Heaven— '"Who  Will  Mind 
the  Baby  "  —  Flowers  in  Heaven  — The  Morgue  — Its  Silent  Occupants  — 
The  Prisoners'  Cage— Weeping  Friends  —  Searching  for  her  Son  —  An 
Affecting  Meeting  — She  Knew  her  Own— "  Charlie,  Mother  is  Here"— 
"  Too  Late,  Too  Late  "  —  A  Pathetic  Scene. 

THE  wayfarer  on  Fifth  Avenue  passing  through  miles  of 
stately  homes,  fashionable  churches,  great  club  houses, 
and  all  that  exhibits  the  most  lavish  expenditure  of  wealth  for 
personal  enjoyment,  comes  suddenly  upon  a  spot  which  in  an 
instant  recalls  the  fact  that,  under  all  this  pomp  of  external 
life,  suffering  and  want  still  hold  their  place.  Xot  a  stone's 
throw*  from  the  avenue  and  its  brilliant  life,  one  passes  through 
the  always  open  gates  of  St.  Luke's  Hospital,  under  the  shadow 
of  great  trees  whose  friendly  protecting  branches  are  welcome 
and  oreetino'  for  all  alike.  Flowers  bloom  here  as  brightly  as 
if  pain  had  no  place.  Impertinent  sparrows  swarm  and  chat- 
ter under  the  eaves,  and.  perching  on  window  sills  or  frames, 
look  in  with  curious  eyes  on  the  long  lines  of  cots. 

Within  are  broad  corridors,  high  ceilings,  and  great  win- 
dows. A  flood  of  sunshine  is  there  and  the  freshest  of  air 
blows  straight  from  the  sea.  A  cleanliness  that  is  spotless; 
quiet,  purity,  efficient  ministration,  form  the  atmosphere  of  this 

^279) 


280  SUMMONING  AN  AMBULANCE. 

famous  hospital,  the  name  of  which  has  become  a  synonym  for 
the  tenderest  care  that  strangers  can  give  to  strangers. 

Bellevue,  St.  Luke's,  the  New  York  Hospital,  and  two  or 
three  others  less  widely  known,  are  the  names  that  generally 
occur  when  any  question  arises  as  to  the  hospital  system  of 
New  York.  Year  by  year  the  list  of  special  and  general,  large 
and  small,  sectarian  and  unsectarian  hospitals,  has  lengthened, 
till  to-day  it  numbers  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty.  Methods 
vary  but  little,  and  each  is  eager  to  include  the  latest  and  best 
in  its  management.  Thousands  of  medical  students  not  only 
from  all  parts  of  America  but  from  the  world  at  large,  come  to 
New  York  hospitals  to  study  the  cases  that  daily  pass  under 
the  surgeons'  hands.  The  medical  colleges  look  upon  them  as 
training-schools,  and  each  of  the  larger  hospitals  has  not  only 
its  clinics  for  medical  students  —  both  men  and  women,  but 
training-schools  for  nurses,  the  numbers  of  whom  are  steadily 
increasing. 

But  it  is  the  life  within  these  Avails  that  most  concerns  us, 
and  we  will  seek  it  at  old  Bellevue,  as  the  victims  of  sudden 
accident  often  must.  Every  saunterer  in  city  streets  knows 
the  sudden  thrill  of  excitement  and  Avonder  as  the  gong  of  the 
fire-engine  sounds,  and  the  magnificent  horses  rush  by,  strain- 
ing every  nerve  in  their  haste  to  be  on  the  needed  spot.  There 
is  another  gong  no  less  startling  and  imperative ;  that  of  the 
ambulance,  dead  black  as  to  color,  sAvift  and  furious  as  to  prog- 
ress. Its  arrival  at  Bellevue  is  of  hourly  occurrence  and  ex- 
cites no  comment  from  officials  or  attendants.  Victims  of 
accidents,  of  all  kinds  and  patients  of  all  degrees  are  constantly 
arriving  at  its  doors.  The  call  for  an  ambulance  is  generally 
sent  to  the  hospital  through  the  telephone,  and  is  at  once  trans- 
mitted by  signal  bells  to  the  surgeon's  office  and  the  stables. 
Two  bells  is  the  signal  for  an  ordinary  call,  five  if  haste  is 
necessary,  and  tAvelve  for  a  summons  to  a  fire,  Avhere  falling 
walls  and  lurid  flame  so  often  do  their  deadly  Avork.  The 
response  is  a  quick  one  in  any  case,  but  for  the  "  hurry  "  call 
the  speed  is  so  mad  that  it  is  difficult  to  keep  one's  place  in  the 
ambulance  at  all.     A  surgeon  is   ahvays  on  duty  to  answer 


ANSWERING    \    "HURRY"  CALL.  281 

calls,  and  the  one  who  is  detailed  for  an  ambulance  trip  may 

respond  bare-headed,  hare -footed,  and  half-dressed,  finishing 
his  toilet  as  he  is  whirled  along  toward  his  destination.  If  the 
streets  are  not  too  crowded,  any  horse  in  the  stables  will  make 

his  mile  in  four  minutes,  and  he  bends  to  his  work  with  as  ap- 
parent understanding  of  the  dignity  and  importance  of  his  mis- 
sion as  that  shown  by  the  fire-department  horses. 

The  ambulance  itself  is  a  triumph  of  ingenuity  and  inven- 
tion. The  bed  in  the  bottom  is  of  the  softest,  and  on  strong 
deep  springs.  The  vehicle  is  sombre  as  a  hearse,  everything 
from  pillows  to  bed.  stretcher  and  curtains,  being  dead  black. 
About  the  sides  within,  splints  are  arranged,  each  with  its  lint 
bandage  coiled  about  it  ready  for  use.  The  stretcher  is  fastened 
securely,  its  iron  rods  strong  enough  to  support  the  heaviest 
weight.  Blankets,  lint,  bandages,  belts  for  strapping  down 
violent  patients,  everything  that  can  be  needed  for  any  possible 
emergency  is  there,  while  the  doctor's  satchel  holds  surgical 
instruments  and  stomach-pump.  Bellevue  is  known  as  the 
"poor  man's  hospital."  and  thus  the  majority  of  calls  come  in 
from  the  poorer  districts  and  in  large  proportion  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  swarming  tenements  on  the  East  Side.  Acci- 
dents of  every  nature,  and  the  long  list  of  casualties  caused  by 
drink,  furnish  abundant  material,  though  there  is  a  large  pro- 
portion of  ordinary  sicknesses,  many  of  these  cases  being  com- 
plicated by  the  privations  of  poverty. 

Hark!  The  "hurry"  call  has  sounded.  A  bell  in  the 
stable  instantly  arouses  both  driver  and  horse.  The  harness, 
always  suspended  and  ready  to  be  dropped  on  the  horsi  's 
back,  is  already  in  place.  The  stable  doors  fly  open,  and  the 
ambulance  is  ready  and  rolls  out  before  the  reverberations  of 
the  five  quick  and  imperative  strokes  of  the  signal  gong  have 
died  away.  The  surgeon,  whom  another  bell  has  summoned, 
is  at  the  big  archway  just  as  the  ambulance  furiously  dashes 
up,  and  he  springs  to  his  seat  in  the  rear.  The  address  is 
given  them,  the  driver  gathers  up  the  reins,  and  with  a  word 
to  the  horse  they  are  off  at  a  mad  pace.  The  ambulance  has 
right  of  way  and  takes  the   middle  of   the   street,  the   gong 


282 


A   VICTIM   OF   SUDDEN   ACCIDENT. 


sounding  a  loud  and  incessant  alarm  as  they  gallop  on.  The 
call  has  come  from  Sixteenth  Street,  and  as  they  turn  the 
corner  a  crowd  is  seen  gathered  about  something  on  the  side- 
walk. Two  or  three  policemen  are  there  trying  to  keep  free 
space  about  the  huddled  heap.  The  driver  slows  up  and  backs 
the  ambulance  to  the  sidewalk.     Before  this  the  surgeon  has 


THE    AMBULANCE    ROOM    AT    BELLEVUE    HOSPITAL. 

CALL. 


ANSWERING  A    "HURRY 


sprung  out  and  is  bending  over  a  man  who  lies  there  deathly 
white  but  quite  unconscious,  his  head  in  a  little  pool  of  blood. 

"  It's  out  of  a  third-story  window  he  come  head  foremost," 
one  of  the  policemen  says.  "  When  I  got  to  him,  not  a  word 
could  he  say.     It's  dead  he  is,  maybe,  doctor." 

The  surgeon's  quick  and  practised  hands  are  passing  swift- 
ly over  the  prostrate  figure.  He  has  seen  in  a  moment  that 
the  cuts  on  the  head  from  which  the  blood  streams  are  only 
superficial,  but  in  another  moment  he  discovers  that  the  right 
leg  is  broken  and  the  fracture  a  serious  one.  A  temporary 
splint  must  be  put  on  before  he  can  be  moved,  and  it  is 
produced  at  once  from  the  ambulance.     The  man  comes  to 


pat's  ARRIVAL  AT  THE  hospital. 

himself  and  groans  as  the  wounded  Leg  is  moved  and  dressed. 
The  temporary  bandaging  is  done  in  a  moment,  the  patient  is 
tenderly  lifted  into  the  ambulance,  and  the  crowd,  which  1ms 
listened  eagerly  for  every jjroan,  disperses  reluctantly. 

Going  back  to  the  hospital  is  a  slower  process.  There  is 
time  for  the  surgeon  to  make  out  his  slip,  which  must  be  hand- 
ed in  with  each  patient,  and  is  really  a  short  biography  of  the 
case.  On  a  blank  provided  for  this  purpose  he  writes  that  this 
is  Patrick  O'Rourke,  of  500  East  Sixteenth  Street,  and  that 
he  is  a  bricklayer.  Patrick  gives  the  name  of  some  friend 
who  can  be  informed  of  his  condition  if  necessary,  and  states 
how  long  he  has  been  in  the  country,  and  how  long  in  the 
city.  Often  when  the  ambulance  pulls  up  at  the  hospital 
entrance  the  slip  is  all  ready,  as  it  is  now. 

The  receiving-room  doors  are  open  as  they  come.     There 

is  a  fixed  routine  that  must  be  conformed  with.     The  exam- 

ing  surgeon    makes  a  hasty   inspection  of  Pat's  injuries  and 

assigns  him  to  one  of  the  surgical  wards.     The  officer  on  dutv 
©  © 

in  the  reception-room  receives  the  surgeon's  slip,  hardly  look- 
ing at  the  patient,  who  is  at  once  carried  to  the  ward  des- 
ignated on  the  slip.    Orderlies  and  nurses  are  on  duty  there. 

Pat  looks  about  curiously,  though  he  is  in  sharp  pain.  He 
has  the  prejudice  of  all  the  ignorant  against  hospitals,  and  has 
listened  to  tales  of  how  the  doctors  cut  up  folks  alive,  and  eat 
the  choice  dishes  that  ought  by  rights  to  go  to  the  patients. 
He  is  not  certain  as  to  whether  he  likes  the  bath  to  which 
he  is  forced  to  submit, —  not  a  full  one,  since  his  broken  leg 
is  in  the  way.  But  the  orderlies  take  him  in  charge  and 
sponge  him  off  in  warm  water,  then  lay  him  in  bed  and 
report  him  as  ready  for  the  surgeon.  It  is  the  house-surgeon 
who  comes,  and  Pat's  leg  is  soon  put  in  permanent  splints. 
Only  three  hours  have  passed  since  he  made  his  sudden  plunge 
from  the  window.  It  seems  to  him  as  many  years.  He  sees 
supper-trays  brought  in,  and  wonders  if  the  fare  is  like  that 
on  the  Island,  where  he  has  once  served  a  month  for  drunken- 
ness. He  knows  these  are  all  charity  patients,  and  while  he  is 
thinking  about  it  his  own  supper  of  tea  and  toast  appears. 


284 


A   HOSPITAL  PATIENT'S  DAILY   LIFE. 


The  white-capped  nurse  comes  again  shortly  with  some- 
thing in  a  glass,  and  Pat  takes  the  opiate  without  question. 
The  ward  grows  quiet,  for  night  has  come.  Now  and  then 
there  is  a  groan  from  some  cot,  or  the  snore  of  a  sleeping 
patient.     The  nurse  tells  him  the  pain  will  soon  leave  him, 

and  he  looks  at  her  white 
cap  and  admires  it  and 
her  neat  apron,  and  won- 
ders if  she  and  the  others 
are  like  the  Sisters  of 
Charity,  and,  wondering, 
he  falls  asleep  and  knows 
no  more  till  daylight. 

By  the  end  of  the  sec- 
ond day  he  feels  quite  at 
home  and  has  begun  to 
take  an  interest  in  his 
temperature  card.  At  first 
this  puzzles  him,  but  he 
listens  attentively  as  the 
nurse  explains,  and  he 
looks  at  the  card  respect- 
fully. After  this  he  studies 
it  for  himself  from  day  to 
day  and  sees  how  he  is 
gaining.  This  and  the 
three  meals  a  day  are  a 
constant  interest,  and  the  fixed  routine  seems  to  make  the 
time  go  faster.  The  men  on  either  side  of  him  tell  their  stories 
and  listen  to  his. 

He  had  meant  to  resent  the  coming  in  of  the  students,  but 
chey  do  no  harm  and  he  is  rather  interested  in  watching  them 
and  seeing  how  pleased  they  are  with  the  way  his  fractured 
bones  are  knitting.  There  are  books  and  papers,  and  as  he 
mends  he  reads  them.  When  he  is  promoted  to  crutches  and 
takes  his  first  unsteady  steps  on  them,  he  is  as  proud  as  is  a 
mother  of  her  baby's  first  attempt,  and  his  neighbors  in  adjoin- 


A   BELLE  V'UE    HOSPITAL   NURSE. 


\\   \ITI\«.    FOB   THE    MAGIC    WORD. 

ing  cots  seem  to  feel  the  same.     The  man  on  his  right,  wh 
diet  he  envied  because  now  and  then  he  had  a  Little  wine,  is 
gone.     His  bed  was  empty  one  morning  when  Pat  waked,  and 
his  left-hand  neighbor  says  Low: 

"I  was  wakhf  a  bit  in  the  night,  an5  Casey  wint  off  that 
aisy  not  wan  knew  he  was  gone  till  the  night  watch  come 
along.  They've  tuk  him  down  to  the  dead-house  an'  soon 
they'll  be  cuttiiv  him  up." 

Pat  shudders,  but  an  hour  later  hears  the  nurse  telling 
some  inquiring  friend  that  poor  Casey  is  going  to  have  a  fine 
funeral  with  seven  carriages,  all  paid  for  by  his  cousin  in  the 
Bowery.  He  changes  his  mind  and  is  ready  to  swear  that 
everything  in  the  hospital  is  different  from  what  he  has  been 
told.  In  spite  of  his  leg  he  feels  better  than  he1  ever  has  in  his 
life.  His  eyes  have  grown  clear;  his  flesh  looks  fresh  and 
wholesome,  though  he  is  pale  from  confinement.  But  he 
hobbles  about  the  ward,  growing  stronger  daily,  and  looking 
now  and  then  at  another  card  that  has  hung  at  the  head  of 
his  cot  ever  since  he  came  in.  On  it  is  written  who  Pat  is  and 
what  he  is  there  for.  When  the  word  "cured"  is  added  he 
will  go  out,  and  he  wonders  just  how  long  will  be  needed.  In 
the  mean  time  he  reads,  plays  checkers  or  cards,  eats  his  three 
meals  with  relish,  and  repeats  his  experience  to  all  who  will 
listen.  At  last  comes  a  day  when  the  doctor  has  him  try  his 
leg  in  various  positions,  and  then,  taking  down  the  card, 
writes  on  it  the  magic  word  for  which  he  has  waited.  Pat  is 
cured.  He  goes  down  to  the  office;  receives  his  discharge, 
and,  a  little  dazed  with  freedom  and  broad  daylight,  makes 
his  way  to  his  old  quarters,  let  us  hope  to  profit  by  his 
experience. 

This  is  the  tale  of  the  surgical  ward,  where  Pat,  while 
lying  on  his  cot  has  seen  every  form  of  injury,  from  a  nose 
split  by  falling  down  stairs,  to  a  fractured  skull  and  a  broken 
neck;  for  during  his  stay  the  ambulance  lias  made  many 
another  trip  no  less  hurried  than  that  made  for  him. 

It  is  nearly  night   when  the  clangor  of  the  "hurry"  call 


286  HOW   AN   AMPUTATION  IS   PERFORMED. 

sounds  over  and  over  again,  as  if  a  strange  hand  were  on  it, 
and  once  more  the  ambulance  dashes  out  on  its  errand  of  mercy. 
In  five  minutes  the  spot  is  reached,  and  the  child  who  lies  in 
the  street,  mercifully  unconscious,  is  lifted  gently  after  a  hasty 
bandaging  of  the  crushed  foot.  She  has  run  before  a  horse-car, 
has  been  thrown  down  and  will  never  run  again,  for  the  foot 
and  leg  half  way  to  the  knee  are  a  shapeless  mass.  When  the 
sufferer  has  been  gently  placed  on  a  stretcher,  the  ambulance 
returns  to  Bellevue  at  a  swift  pace.  The  little  patient  is  taken 
to  the  reception-room,  and  the  examining  surgeon  at  once  as- 
signs her  to  one  of  the  surgical  wards,  whither  she  is  taken. 
She  has  been  undressed  and  a  clean  white  nightgown  put  on 
before  consciousness  returns.  It  is  impossible  to  save  the  foot, 
and  the  surgeon  decides  on  instant  amputation  to  save  further 
shock  to  the  system.  The  operating-table  is  always  in  readi- 
ness, and  every  facility  for  such  an  emergency  at  hand.  Small 
time  is  needed  for  preparation.  And  now  the  nurses  comfort 
her  as  they  tell  her  to  breathe  through  a  curious  cylinder  they 
have  put  over  her  nose,  and  she  Avill  soon  feel  better.  She 
struggles  a  little  at  first,  but  soon  yields  to  the  influence  of 
ether  and  lies  in  an  unconsciousness  too  deep  for  surgeon's  knife 
to  break.  They  are  ready  for  her  in  the  operating-room  at- 
tached to  the  ward,  whither  she  is  at  once  taken.  Every  in- 
strument required  is  already  in  a  shallow  basin  of  antiseptic 
solution.  Assistants  stand  each  in  place,  including  four  or  five 
white-capped  nurses.  The  duty  of  each  is  clearly  defined.  One 
attends  to  nothing  but  the  etherization  of  the  patient ;  another 
holds  an  antiseptic  sponge  and  keeps  the  spot  clean  on  which 
the  surgeon  is  at  work,  or  closes  with  forceps  any  blood-vessels 
that  may  be  exposed.  A  nurse  hands  every  instrument  as 
needed,  and  there  are  always  one  or  two  others  with  sponges 
and  antiseptic  fluids  for  emergency.  Contrary  to  all  popular 
opinion  it  is  a  bloodless  operation,  nor  is  it  a  straight  cut 
through  to  the  bone.  A  flap  must  be  made,  and  the  nurses 
watch  carefully  as  the  surgeon  takes  the  foot  in  one  hand,  and 
with  the  other  makes  a  Y-shaped  incision  after  the  first  cut  or 
so  which  finishes  the  amputation  begun  by  the  car-wheel.     All 


MODERN    HOSPITAL  SURGERY.  289 

the  jagged  ends  of  hone  are  now  sawed  off;  the  blood-vessels 
are  taken  up  and  tied  with  cat-gut,  and  the  flesh  is  broughl  to- 
gether over  the  exposed  hones  and  carefully  tied  edge  to  edge, 

so  that  it  will  easily  unite.  At  intervals  the  wound  had  been 
freely  wet  with  antiseptic  solution,  and  it  is  now  powdered 
with  iodoform.  Careful  bandaging  finishes  the  operation,  and 
in  half  an  hour  from  the  time  it  began  the  child  is  again  in  hed 
and  slowly  returning  to  consciousness.  She  is  drowsy,  but  in 
less  pain  than  when  she  was  put  under  the  influence  of  ether. 
Sleep  soon  follows,  and  the  little  patient  does  not  know  till  the 
next  day  that  her  foot  is  gone. 

In  special  or  unusual  cases  demanding  extra  attention  a 
class  of  students  and  nurses  is  often  present  at  a  bedside  con- 
sultation. As  the  experienced  surgeon  lays  down  the  appro- 
priate law  to  the  students  he  is  supplemented  by  the  more 
experienced  head-nurses,  the  younger  ones  eagerly  drinking  in 
every  item  mentioned  by  the  authorities  they  strive  to  follow. 

Antiseptic  methods  have  revolutionized  modern  hospital 
surgery.  Twenty-five  years  ago  a  surgeon  who  succeeded  in 
closing  a  wound  so  that  it  ''healed  by  the  first  intention,"  as 
their  phrase  has  it,  congratulated  himself  on  a  triumph,  which 
might  as  easily  have  been  a  failure.  The  germ  theory  is  at  the 
bottom  of  this  and  many  other  things.  Air  and  water  are  full 
of  these  deadly  germs  that  irritate  and  inflame  a  wound  if  en- 
closed in  it,  but  if  this  difficulty  is  conquered  by  the  w^i  of 
some  harmless  chemical  in  water  which  has  been  carefully  dis- 
tilled, all  danger  ceases.  The  surgeon's  hands,  the  instruments, 
sponges,  everything  coming  in  contact  with  such  a  wound  must 
be  kept  wet  with  this  solution.  With  such  precautions  as 
these,  operations  that  a  generation  ago  were  considered  inevi- 
tably fatal  are  performed  with  perfect  success,  while  wounds 
that  once  required  six  weeks  for  cure  heal  now  in  two  or  three, 
leaving  only  the  faintest  of  scars.  There  is  no  surgical  fever 
as  in  the  past,  and  the  whole  process  has  been  brought  to 
almost  absolute  perfection. 

It  is  to  the  great  amphitheatre  of  Bellevue  that  much  of 
this  progress  is  due.     We  are  apt  to  think  of  a  hospital  as  a 


290  A   FAMOUS   OPERATING  ROOM. 

place  where  young  medical  students  experiment  at  will,  often 
with  barbarous  disregard  of  patients'  rights  and  feelings.  There 
are  sometimes  such  instances,  it  is  true,  but  they  are  of  the 
rarest. 

Take  the  actual  facts  of  an  appointment  to  such  position. 
The  highest  prize  sought  yearly  by  the  graduates  of  the  medi- 
cal colleges  is  a  hospital  appointment.  In  the  class  of  one  of 
the  house  surgeons  at  Bellevue  were  over  two  hundred  stu- 
dents. The  twenty  who  stood  highest  were  the  ones  eligible 
for  such  appointment,  and  out  of  these  twenty  but  four  would 
be  chosen.  Thus  the  men  who  won  were  the  cream  of  the  two 
hundred,  and  they  accepted  a  task  that  only  a  man  devoted  to 
his  profession  would  take.  The  work  is  in  the  highest  degree 
responsible  and  burdensome,  and  there  is  no  evading  it.  Food 
and  sleep  must  often  be  renounced  to  meet  the  unceasing  de- 
mands of  the  place.  Its  compensation  is  the  experience  —  of 
which  more  is  gained  in  a  week  than  a  year  of  private  practice 
would  bring  —  and  the  ease  of  getting  into  regular  practice 
after  such  a  probation. 

It  is  in  the  wards  that  the  students'  work  is  chiefly  done. 
In  the  great  amphitheatre,  operations  are  performed  before  the 
students  by  the  most  famous  surgeons  of  New  York,  who  gladly 
operate  for  the  sake  of  keeping  up  their  facility,  as  well  as  for 
humanity's  sake.  It  is  thus  perfectly  true  that  the  charity  pa- 
tient at  Bellevue  receives  as  skilled  treatment  and  careful  nurs- 
ing as  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  rich  man.  Trained  nurses  watch 
for  every  change,  a  physician  is  within  sound  of  his  voice,  and 
a  visiting  surgeon  is  ready  to  note  every  particular  of  the  case. 
Home  is  best  when  convalescence  begins,  for  there  can  be  more 
freedom  there ;  but  till  then  a  hospital  ward  must  be  counted 
one  of  the  greatest  of  modern  blessings  in  the  security  it  affords 
that  the  wisest  and  best  course  will  be  taken  with  the  patient. 

The  Bellevue  amphitheatre  is  famous.  No  operating-room 
in  the  world  has  witnessed  so  many  or  so  frequent  triumphs  of 
surgical  skill.  About  the  bare  and  unattractive  apartment  rises 
a  steep  bank  of  seats  capable  of  holding  between  three  and  four 
hundred.     In  the  arena  stands  the  operating-table  in  a  space 


A    SWIFT    AM)    SKILLFUL   OPERATION. 


291 


about  twelve  feel  wide  It  is  low  and  Long,  Beven  feel  by  two, 
and  has  od  it  a  thin  bard  mattress  covered  with  rubber.  NTo  one 
who  is  laid  upon  it  knows  if  it  be  hard  or  soft.  Once  upon  it. 
the  merciful  ether  quickly  docs  its  work,  and  the  patient,  whose 
face  is  hidden  by  the  cone,  lies  flat,  with  the  head  turned  to  cue 


TPr 


- 


A   SURGICAL   OPERATION    I-N    THE   AMPHITHEATRE   AT    BELLEVTJE   HOSPITAL,. 

side  that  the  tongue  may  not  interfere  with  the  breathing.  The 
medical  college  professor  in  charge  explains  to  the  assembled 
students  the  nature  of  the  operation,  and  work'  begins.  It  is  of 
the  swiftest.  A  leg  has  been  known  to  be  taken  off  in  fifteen 
seconds.  That  did  not  complete  the  operation,  but  the  time 
between  the  first  touch  of  the  knife  and  the  removal  of  the  sev- 
ered leg  was  less  than  quarter  of  a  minute.  It  was  a  case  of 
hip  disease,  in  which  the  leg  was  taken  off  a  little  below  to  avoid 
hemorrhage,  and  then  the  bone  removed  at  the  joint. 

IS 


292  THE  CHANCES  OF  RECOVERY. 

Skill  like  this  has  its  own  fascination,  and  the  amphitheatre 
could  tell  many  a  tale  of  operations  that  are  romances.  Enthu- 
siasm, skill  well-nigh  miraculous,  results  as  thoroughly  so,  are 
part  of  the  story  of  any  modern  hospital,  and  surgery  has 
reached  the  point  of  science  where  uncertainty  is  small  indeed. 
The  child  whose  foot  was  taken  off  will  go  home  in  a  fortnight 
or  three  weeks  as  well  as  ever,  and  the  artificial  foot  that  will 
be  provided  her  is  as  like  a  natural  one  as  science  can  make  it, 
which  is  saying  much. 

Comparatively  few  surgical  operations  result  fatally.  There 
are  naturally  some  cases  where  small  chance  exists  for  recovery, 
but  the  chance  is  always  taken.  Occasionally  the  last  hours  of 
an  incurable  are  made  comfortable  by  an  operation  undertaken 
with  no  other  object  than  a  peaceful  end  for  the  patient,  and 
the  life  that  has  known  only  pain  and  anguish  finds  tranquil- 
lity and  peace  in  dying.  "  I  told  her  I  might  be  able  to  give 
her  two  days  of  comfort  by  an  operation ;  it  might  be  a  shorter 
time ;  and  she  might  die  under  the  knife,"  said  a  surgeon  of  a 
patient.  "  On  the  other  hand,  without  an  operation  she  would 
continue  to  suffer  till  she  died.  I  told  her  husband  the  same ; 
both  consented  to  make  the  trial;  he,  because  he  could 
not  endure  seeing  her  agonies ;  she,  because  she  could  not  en- 
dure having  him  see  them.  I  performed  the  operation:  She 
lived  just  thirty-six  hours,  in  peace.  Afterward  he  thanked 
me,  with  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks,  for  those  last  precious, 
painless  hours,  although  they  hastened  the  end." 

In  the  medical  ward  the  same  skillful  treatment  and  care- 
ful attendance  is  maintained.  For  each  and  all  are  the  white- 
capped  nurses,  the  serious  doctors,  the  throng  of  students,  and 
the  constant  coming  and  going  of  new  cases.  The  twelve  hund- 
red beds  are  always  full.  Every  form  of  malady  or  deform- 
ity that  can  afflict  mankind  is  seen  in  these  wards,  in  which  a 
constant  weeding-out  process  goes  on.  Contagious  diseases  are 
sent  to  their  appropriate  hospital.  Each  special  disease  has  its 
own  hospital  and  staff  of  specialists,  and  the  dispensaries  which 
form  part  of  the  hospital  system  take  pains  to  send  patients 
needing  hospital  treatment  to  the  proper  one.     The  drug  de- 


THE   PRICK   OF    HOSPITAL   TREATMENT. 


293 


partment  at  Bellevue  annually  dispenses  for  use  in  this  hospi- 
tal alone  about  135,000  yards  of  surgical  gauze,  600  pounds  of 
lint,  3,500  pounds  of  absorbent  cotton,  50  bales  of  oakum,  and 

vast  (plant  it  its  of    drugs,   including    nearly    1,000    pounds    of 

ether.     In  the  cellar  about  75,000  bottles  are  washed  annually. 

Though  many  are  free,  it  is  the  endeavor  to  make   patients 

pay  where  possible,  though  at  Bellevue  the  highest  charge  is 


IN   ONE   OF   THE    FEMALE    WARDS    AT   BELLEVUE    HOSPITAL. 


only  three  dollars  and  a  half  a  week.  In  the  Xew  York  Hos- 
pital prices  range  from  seven  to  thirty  dollars  a  week,  and  in 
the  private  rooms  one  may  receive  a  care  impossible  in  any  pri- 
vate house  even  with  a  trained  nurse.  But  the  prejudice 
against  hospitals  as  a  whole  runs  through  all  ranks,  and 
naturally  enough.  The  freedom  of  home;  the  desire  that 
those  who  are  best  loved  may  be  near  one,  and  the  fear  of 
dying  alone,  save  for  hired  attendance,  will  always  deter  the 
great  majority  from  accepting  the  hospital  as  the  best  place  for 
quick  and  effectual  treatment  of  disease. 

For  the  mass  who  have  no  choice  or  who  are  incapable  of 


294  UNDESIRABLE   HOSPITAL   PATIENTS. 

paying  for  attendance  at  home,  the  growth  of  special  hospitals 
is  often  a  boon  beyond  words. 

The  specialty  of  the  New  York  Hospital  is  its  surgical 
cases,  and  like  most  others  it  objects  strongly  to  chronic  ones. 
This  at  times  bears  heavily  upon  applicants.  A  perfectly 
respectable  man  who  has  spent  all  his  money  and  is  suffering 
from  some  chronic  trouble  that  has  disabled  him,  may  make 
the  rounds  of  the  hospitals,  growing  more  and  more  despairing 
with  every  refusal.  St.  Luke's  most  often  opens  its  doors  to 
such.  But  only  five  hospitals  out  of  the  long  list  are  bound 
by  their  charter  to  take  every  patient  that  applies  for  admis- 
sion. Nearly  all  will  take  what  are  called  "emergency" 
cases,  but  a  chronic  invalid  fills  the  room  sorely  needed  for 
cases  that  demand  immediate  attention.  The  usual  length  of 
time  for  the  ordinary  patient  is  from  a  week  to  seventeen 
days,  and  there  is  constant  pressure  for  room.  No  hospital 
likes  to  increase  its  death  rate,  and  there  is  always  a  little 
feeling  on  this  point.  Bellevue  sometimes  makes  complaint 
that  if  the  other  hospitals  receive  cases  likely  to  die  on  their 
hands,  they  transfer  them  at  once  to  it,  as  in  a  case  of  a 
large  fire  where  several  were  burned  so  severely  that  death 
was  inevitable. 

There  is  an  explanation  for  this  and  a  perfectly  reasonable 
one.  In  the  New  York  Hospital  for  example,  with  its  large 
proportion  of  serious  cases  of  surgical  operations,  the  recovery 
depends  almost  entirely  on  perfect  rest  and  quiet.  Even  one 
severely  burned  patient,  delirious  and  noisy  as  all  such  are 
likely  to  be,  would  keep  the  entire  ward  in  an  uproar,  this 
meaning  certain  death  for  many  other  patients.  It  is  a  case 
where  the  individual  must  sometimes  suffer  for  the  general 
good,  but  such  cases  are  rare.  As  a  rule  the  stranger  or  citi- 
zen alike,  who  needs  help,  finds  it,  and  the  long  roll  of  hospi- 
tals and  dispensaries  means  a  beneficence  that  it  is  hardly 
possible  to  overestimate. 

There  is  one  hospital,  whose  roof  affords  a  strange  and 
piteous  sight.  It  is  the  Orthopedic  Hospital  on  Lexington 
Avenue,  and  the  roof  is  the  playground  for  its  convalescents. 


PATIENT    LITTLE   SUFFERERS. 


Here  are  deformed  little  ones,  some  with  feet  bent  doable, 
some  with  bodies  set  laterally  from  hips,  twisted,  bent,  held 
up  by  iron  belts  and  trusses  and  all  devices  of  modern 
surgery:  and  here  on  the  roof,  far  remote  from  the  din  of 
streets,  they  play  as  if  sickness  were  not  and  pain  had  been 
forgotten.  Wonderful  cures  go  out  from  here,  and  if  there 
are  not  always  cures,  there  is  always  relief. 


IN   THE   CHILDREN  s   WARD   AT   BELLEVUE    HOSPITAL. 

An  hour  spent  in  the  children's  ward  of  any  great  hospital 
convinces  one  that  for  the  majority,  home  could  offer  nothing 
so  perfect  in  care  and  often  nothing  so  wise  and  tender.  The 
first  entrance  into  such  a  ward  fills  one  with  pity  and  sym- 
pathy that  is  often  heartbreaking.  They  are  so  patient,  these 
suffering  little  ones,  who  obey  implicitly,  and  bear  their  pain 
so  mutely  that  even  the  experienced  doctors  and  nurses  are 
often  moved  to  tears  of  wonder  and  pity.  They  are  easily 
entertained.  A  scrap-book  of  bright  pictures,  a  doll  that  can 
be  hugged   close,  a  toy  or  flower,  are  dear  delights.     Many 


296  SILENT  APPEALS  OF  LITTLE  ONES. 

visitors  come  and  go,  and  seldom  come  empty-handed.  Often 
the  child  finds  special  friends  and  is  adopted  or  otherwise 
cared  for;  and  often,  in  the  quiet  and  healing  of  long  weeks 
of  cleanliness,  good  food,  and  all  that  had  been  lacking  in  a 
life  of  poverty  before,  real  health  begins,  and  the  child  lays 
the  foundation  of  a  new  life. 

A  children's  ward  is  a  world  in  itself,  in  which  the  inhabi- 
tants are  "little  people,"  with  different  language,  manners, 
feelings,  and  thoughts  to  men  and  women.  Children  are  much 
more  difficult  to  nurse  than  adults.  Their  language  is  often 
quite  inadequate  to  express  what  they  feel,  and  in  their  sor- 
rows and  wants  they  are  more  or  less  dumb.  A  nurse  must 
read  the  "unwritten  speech"  of  their  eyes,  hands,  and  feet, 
and  watch  their  tears,  smiles,  gestures,  and  expressions,  to  di- 
vine what  they  mean.  A  celebrated  French  physician,  who 
had  charge  of  the  Hospital  for  Waifs  and  Strays  in  Paris,  de- 
clared that  he  was  able  to  diagnose  children's  diseases  from  the 
lines  and  furrows  on  their  faces.  A  skillful  nurse  will  learn 
almost  as  much  from  their  cries. 

It  is  beautiful  to  see  how  the  eyes  of  the  little  sufferers 
brighten  when  the  nurses  speak  to  them  in  their  low  and  gentle 
voices.  When  they  have  got  over  the  worst  of  their  troubles, 
and  find  themselves  in  pleasant  rooms,  made  still  more  cheerful 
by  pictures,  illuminated  texts,  and  flowers ;  in  common  posses- 
sion of  picture-books,  dolls,  Noah's-arks,  rocking-horses,  and 
live  kittens,  and  sole  proprietors  of  other  toys,  with  little 
shelves  to  range  them  on ;  well  fed  and  cleanly  clad,  and  waited 
on  by  those  kindly  ministering  angels,  the  little  patients  must 
almost  fancy  themselves  in  heaven. 

As  strength  comes  back  to  them,  they  indulge  in  plenty  of 
fun.  They  "  play  at  doctors,"  gravely  looking  at  one  another's 
tongues  and  feeling  one  another's  pulses;  they  cuddle  and 
dress  up  their  kittens  like  babies,  and  put  their  dolls'  hair  into 
curl-papers.  When  convalescence  permits  a  little  more  latitude 
in  diet,  they  are  often  as  hard  to  please  as  patients  of  older 
years.  One  little  mite,  when  asked  to  order  her  dinner, 
demanded  "  beefsteak  and  onions,"  and  another  "  sassenges !  " 


THE   TORMENT   OF   THE    WARD. 


297 


In  the  ordinary  wards  there  is  a  medley  of  cases.  Of  those 
seen  in  a  recent  visit  to  a  children's  ward,  some  were  on 
the  floor  playing,  while  others  watched  them  from  the  spot- 
lessly white  little  beds.     One  small  boy,  who  had  been  beaten 

almost  to  a  jelly  by  a  drnnken  father,  howled  at  the  top  of  his 


DISCHARGED.        A   PATIENT    RECEIVING'  HER    BUNDLE    OF    CLOTHES    IN    THE   OLD 
CLOTHES   IiOOM    AT    BELLE VUE    HOSPITAL. 

lungs  while  his  wounds  were  being  dressed,  and  when  all  was 
over  proceeded  to  torment  every  other  child  in  the  ward. 
There  is  always  one  nuisance  of  this  description,  and  it  compli- 
cates the  nurse's  work  immensely.  He  was  sent  back  to  bed 
finally,  and  lay  there  kicking  off  the  coverlet  or  winding  it 
about  him  till  quieted  by  a  fresh  scrap-book.    Next  to  him  was 


298  SCENES   IN   THE   CHILDREN'S   WARD. 

a  three-year-old  child  swathed  in  bandages.  It  had  been 
thrown  on  a  red-hot  stove  by  a  drunken  mother,  and  it  was 
doubtful  if  the  contracted  sinews  could  ever  be  made  to  yield. 
The  seven-year-old  child  with  his  right  leg  in  plaster  was 
kicked  down  stairs  by  his  father,  who  is  now  on  Blackwell's 
Island,  and  next  to  him  was  Tommy,  aged  three,  sitting  up  and 
just  recovering  from  a  burn  contracted  on  his  own  account  in 
examining  a  kettle  of  boiling  water.  Yonder  mite  of  a  girl 
has  lost  one  leg,  and  is  destined  to  lose  the  other.  Her  pride  in 
the  perambulator  in  which  she  takes  her  airings,  and  which  she 
looks  upon  as  her  own  private  carriage,  is  the  way  in  which  the 
wind  is  tempered  to  the  shorn  lamb.  Another  is  waiting 
for  the  surgeon  to  free  her  from  a  hideous  tumor ;  a  third 
is  crying,  not  so  much  on  account  of  her  own  sufferings  as  be- 
cause it  is  washing-day  at  home  and  she  cannot  be  there  to 
mind  the  baby ! 

We  are  apt  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  children  live  in 
the  present.  The  little  ones  are  cognizant  of  no  past  and  no 
future,  and  therefore,  while  they  suffer,  they  suffer  with  their 
entire  nature.  They  have  no  "  superannuated  memories,"  no 
philosophy  by  which  to  rob  grief  of  its  sting ;  thus  their  sor- 
rows fill  their  wThole  hearts  and  minds,  although  they  weep  but 
for  the  loss  of  a  plaything  or  the  broken  neck  of  a  doll.  Most 
nurses  love  children.  One  can  see  the  motherhood  in  their 
eyes  as  they  bend  over  their  cots  and  soothe  them  to  sleep. 
And  small  wonder  that  they  love  them  so  well.  The  most 
beautiful  thing  in  this  life  is  the  faith  and  trust  of  a  child, 
and  the  world  can  never  grow  really  old  while  it  possesses 
little  children.  Most  of  those  in  the  children's  ward  come 
from  terrible  homes,  wdiere  they  see  vice  and  sin  rampant,  and 
"  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil "  are  present  both  night 
and  day.  No  halo  of  love  and  goodness  surrounds  their  poor 
lives,  as  a  rule,  but  they  grow  up  to  sin  in  their  wretched 
tenement-rooms  as  easily  as  they  would  grow  up  to  be  good 
in  happy  homes. 

One  night  not  long  since  a  child  in  a  hospital  ward  lay 
dying.     She  heard  some  drunken  men  brawl  as  they  passed 


THE    i  .\<  LAIMED   and    UNKNOWN    DEAD.  •";,,1 

under  the  window.  "That's  father,"  the  child  said;  "he 
comes  home  tipsy  every  night."  The  nurse  Looked  al  the 
tittle  face,  and  thoughl  it  was  terrible  thai  the  child  should  die 

having  known  nothing  of  this  world  but  its  sin.  She  spoke 
of  God  and  of  heaven,  but  the  child  could  not  understand. 
Taking  some  violets  from  a  cup  on  the  table,  the  nurse  said, 
"  Look  at  these;  the  flowers  in  heaven  are  more  beautiful  than 
violets."     "Oh,  then  may  I  pick  them?"  said  the  child. 

In  spite  of  the  loving  care  lavished  on  the  little  sufferers, 
and  the  flower-like  way  in  which  those  who  are  getting  over 
their  sufferings  open  to  the  sunshine,  sadness  must  be  the 
dominant  outcome  of  a  walk  through  the  children's  ward, — 
all  the  more  so  if  the  visitor  has  healthy,  rollicking  children  of 
his  own  waiting  to  welcome  him  at  home. 

At  the  end  of  the  lawn  at  Bellevue,  close  by  the  river  and 
partly  extending  over  the  water,  is  a  long,  low  building.  It 
is  the  Morgue,  where  lie  —  often  to  the  number  of  thirty  or 
forty  —  the  unclaimed  and  unknown  dead  in  rough  pine  boxes 
of  the  very  cheapest  description.  At  the  head  of  each  coffin 
is  tacked  a  card  giving  all  the  information  that  is  known  of 
each  case.  Of  those  who  die  in  hospital  it  is  generally  possible 
to  give  the  name,  age,  native  place,  and  date  of  death,  and 
these  items  are  carefully  noted  on  the  card.  It  is  also  stated 
whether  the  person  died  friendless  or  the  body  is  waiting  for 
friends.  But  the  majority  of  the  silent  occupants  of  the 
Morgue  are  unknown.  They  wait  in  vain  for  friends  to 
identify  them,  and  find  rest  at  last  in  nameless  graves  in  the 
Potter's  Field. 

There  is  one  portion  of  Bellevue  seldom  seen  by  the  public, 
and  holding  almost  as  much  tragedy  as  the  Morgue  not  far  be- 
yond. It  is  the  Prisoners'  Ward,  where  are  cells  for  sick  pris- 
oners of  every  order.  Slight  ailments  are  treated  by  police 
surgeons  in  the  various  jails  of  the  city  where  prisoners  happen 
to  be  lodged.  The  numerous  police  station-houses  also  have 
cells  where  an  army  of  prisoners  is  confined  every  night;  but 
the  Tombs  is  the  great  receiving  center,  over  fifty  thousand 
prisoners  passing  through  it  annually. 


302 


a  mother's  love. 


Naturally,  then,  there  are  many  patients,  and  all  critical 
cases  are  removed  to  Bellevue.  Often,  too,  in  attempted  mur- 
der, where  the  murderer  seeks  suicide  as  his  only  way  out,  both 
murderer  and  victim  may  be  taken  here.  Men,  women,  and 
even  children,  who  stab  and  throttle  even  more  than  the  news- 
papers record,  lie  under  guard,  knowing  that  when  recovery 


THE    "CAGE"   OK  PRISONERS'   WARD   AT   BELLEVUE   HOSPITAL. 

comes  the  law  and  its  course  awaits  them.  Here  come  weeping 
friends,  sadder  even  than  those  who  seek  the  Morgue,  and 
breathe  freer  when  they  find  that  death  has  ended  the  career 
that  was  disgrace  and  misery  for  both  sinner  and  sinned  against. 
To  one  of  these  cells  there  came  one  morning  a  woman 
bearing  the  usual  permit  to  visit  a  patient.  She  was  a  slender, 
pale  little  woman,  with  the  look  of  delicate  refinement  that  sor- 


AN   AFFECTING    Ml  1. 1  tNG.  303 

row  had  only  intensified,  and  she  looked  at  the  physician,  who 
was  just  Leaving  the  patient,  with  clear  eves  which  had  wept 
often,  hut  kept  their  steady,  straightforward  gaze. 

"I  am  not  certain,"  she  said.  "  I  have  searched  for  my  boy 
for  a  long-  while,  and  I  think  he  must  be  here.  All  the  clues 
have  led  me  here.     I  want  to  see  him." 

The  doctor  looked  at  her  pitifully  as  she  went  up  to  the  nar- 
row bed  where  the  patient  lay,  a  lad  of  hardly  twenty,  with  his 
face  buried  in  the  pillow.  His  fair  hair,  waving*  crisply  against 
the  skin  browned  by  exposure,  had  not  yet  been  cut,  for  the 
hospital  barber  who  stood  there  had  found  it  so  far  impossible 
to  make  him  turn  his  head. 

"He's  lain  that  way  ever  since  they  brought  him  in  yester- 
day," said  the  barber,  and  then,  moved  by  something  in  the 
agitated  face  before  him,  turned  his  own  away.  The  mother, 
for  it  was  quite  plain  who  this  must  be,  stooped  over  the  pros- 
trate  figure.  She  knew  it  as  mothers  know  their  own,  and 
laid  her  hand  on  the  burning  head. 

"Charley,"  she  said,  softly,  as  if  she  had  come  into  his  room 
to  rouse  him  from  some  boyish  sleep, — "Mother  is  here." 

A  wild  cry  rang  out  that  startled  even  the  experienced  phy- 
sician. 

"  For  God's  sake  take  her  away  !  She  doesn't  know  what  I 
am.     Take  her  away  !  " 

The  patient  had  started  up,  and  wrung  hands  of  piteous  en- 
treaty.  "Take  her  away!"  he  still  cried,  but  the  mother  gently 
folded  her  arms  about  him  and  drew  his  head  to  her  breast. 

"  Oh,  Charlie,  I  have  found  you,"  she  said  through  her  sobs, 
"and  I  will  never  lose  you  again." 

The  lad  looked  at  her  for  a  moment.  His  eyes  were  like 
hers,  large  and  clear,  but  with  the  experience  of  a  thousand 
years  in  their  depths ;  a  beautiful,  reckless  face,  with  lines 
graven  by  passion  and  crime.  Then  he  burst  into  weeping  like 
a  child. 

"  It's  too  late !  it's  too  late  !  "  he  said  in  tones  almost  inaudi- 
ble. "  I'm  doing  you  the  only  good  turn  I've  done  you,  mother. 
I'm  dying,  and  you  won't  have  to  break  your  heart  over  me 


304  AN  AGONIZING    SCENE. 

any  more.  It  wasn't  your  fault.  It  was  the  cursed  drink  that 
ruined  me,  blighted  my  life  and  brought  me  here.  It's  murder 
now,  but  the  hangman  won't  have  me,  and  I  shall  save  that 
much  of  disgrace  for  our  name." 

As  he  spoke  he  fell  back  upon  his  pillow ;  his  face  changed, 
and  the  unmistakable  hue  of  death  suddenly  spread  over  his 
handsome  features.  The  doctor  came  forward  quickly,  a  look 
of  anxious  surprise  on  his  face.  It  was  plain  that  the  end  was 
near. 

"  I  didn't  know  he  was  that  bad,"  the  barber  muttered 
under  his  breath,  as  he  gazed  at  the  lad  holding  still  to  his 
mother's  hand.  The  doctor  lifted  the  patient's  head  and  then 
laid  it  back  softly.     Life  had  fled. 

"  It  is  better  to  have  it  so,"  he  said  to  himself  in  a  low 
voice,  and  then  stood  silently  and  reverently,  ready  to  offer 
consolation  to  the  bereaved  mother,  whose  face  was  still  hidden 
in  the  boy's  breast.  She  did  not  stir.  Something  in  the 
motionless  attitude  aroused  vague  suspicion  in  the  mind  of  the 
doctor,  and  moved  him  to  bend  forward  and  gently  take  her 
hand.  With  an  involuntary  start  he  hastily  lifted  the  prostrate 
form,  and  quickly  felt  pulse  and  heart  only  to  find  them  stilled 
forever. 

"  She  is  gone  too,"  he  softly  whispered,  and  the  tears  stood 
in  his  eyes.  "  Poor  soul !  It  is  the  best  thing  for  both  of 
them." 

That  is  one  story  of  the  prison  ward  of  Bellevue,  and  there 
are  hundreds  that  might  be  told,  though  never  one  sadder  or 
holding  deeper  tragedy  than  this  one  recorded  here. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

FLOWER  MISSIONS  AND  THE  FRESH  AIR  FUND  — THE  DISTRI- 
BUTION OF  FLOWERS  AMONG  THE  SICK  AND  POOR- 
ANECDOTES  AND   [NCIDENTS. 

Along  the  River  Front  —  A  Dangerous  Locality  —  First  Lessons  in  Thiev- 
ing—  Headquarters  of  River  Pirates  —  The  Influence  of  Flowers  in  a 
Region  of  Vice  and  Crime  —  Fighting  Bad  Smells  with  Good  Ones  — 
A  Magic  Touch  —  Bud  and  Bloom  in  the  Windows  of  the  Poor  — 
Flowers  and  Plants  in  Tumble-Down  Houses  and  Tenement  Rookeries 
—  Distributing  Flowers  Among  the  Sick  —  Flowers  in  Hospitals  —  The 
Story  of  a  Bunch  of  Buttercups  —  Children  Carrying  Flowers  to  Bed 
with  Them  —  "The  Pansy  Man"  —  Taking  Flowers  out  for  a  AValk  — 
Effect  of  Flowers  on  a  Sick  Child— The  story  of  "Long  Sal"  and  Her 
Geranium  —  A  Female  Terror  —  Going  out  to  "Catch  Raspberries "  — 
Slum  Children's  First  Week  in  the  Country  —  A  Suspicious  Mother  — 
Rich  Results  from  Two  Dollars  a  Week  —  A  City  Backyard  —  Afraid 
to  Pick  Flowers— "Ain't  They  God'.-.'' 

TWENTY  years  and  more  of  effort  have  made  a  different 
name  for  one  of  the  most  infamous  regions  of  New  York. 
Corlear's  Hook,  once  unknown  ground  to  all  save  the  police 
and  the  gangs  of  thieves,  murderers,  and  tramps  that  infested 
it,  is  no  longer  the  scene  of  murders  and  other  terrible  crimes 
that  made  it  notorious  a  generation  ago ;  hut  it  is  still  one  of 
the  most  lawless  regions  in  the  city,  and  the  headquarters  for 
the  most  daring  of  the  river-thieves. 

The  Hook  proper  is  at  the  bend  of  the  East  River.  The 
great  machine-shops  and  storage-warehouses  that  lie  along  its 
front  are  hives  of  industry  by  day,  but  when  night  comes  and 
workmen  and  clerks  have  departed  it  is  a  deserted  region. 
Back  of  these  shops  and  warehouses  lies  a  network  of  narrow 
street  and  lanes,  in  tin1  squalid  rookeries  of  which  the  thi< 
often  conceal  the  plunder  obtained  in  their  nightly  raids  on  the 
river.     Like  the  Five  Points  it  was  for  years  dangerous  to  ven- 

(305) 


306  FIGHTING   BAD   SMELLS   WITH   GOOD   ONES. 

ture  there  after  nightfall,  and  like  that  quarter  it  owes  its  partial 
reconstruction  to  the  work  of  the  Children's  Aid  Society  and 
the  various  missions  under  its  care. 

The  children  of  Corlear's  Hook  fare  better  than  those  of  the 
Five  Points  in  one  sense,  for  they  live  along  the  river  front, 
play  on  the  docks  and  woodpiles,  enjoy  the  sunshine  like  any 
young  Neapolitan,  and  swim  and  sport  in  the  river  under  the 
very  eyes  of  the  police.  Every  available  inch  of  ground  is 
made  use  of  for  houses,  each  lot  having  a  rear  tenement  also, 
thus  shutting  out  air  and  sun  ;  and  the  children  fly  from  these 
dens  to  the  docks,  where  they  take  their  first  lessons  in  thieving. 

More  than  twenty  years  ago  the  founder  of  the  Children's 
Aid  Society,  while  wandering  among  the  wretched  dwellings 
and  pondering  as  to  the  fate  of  these  waifs,  came  upon  an  old 
shell  of  a  public  school  building,  with  the  unusual  advantage  of 
being  open  to  air  anti  sun  on  four  sides.  This  was  at  once 
rented  and  was  afterwards  transformed  into  one  of  the  most 
novel  and  attractive  agencies  for  good  that  can  be  found  in  the 
city.  The  man  chosen  for  its  superintendent  had  not  only  love 
for  his  work  but  a  keen  artistic  sense.  Any  room  in  his  hands, 
by  means  of  plants,  flowers,  leaves,  or  even  old  prints  and  en- 
gravings, took  on  a  pleasant  aspect;  and  he  brought  all  his 
gifts  to  bear  upon  this  forsaken  spot,  with  its  surroundings  of 
old  rookeries  and  broken-down  tenements. 

The  back  yard  —  a  mere  strip  of  a  place  hardly  bigger  than 
a  respectable  closet  —  was  the  first  to  yield  to  his  magic  touch. 
Here  he  planted  shrubs,  flowers,  and  vines  about  a  shaded  seat, 
where  for  a  moment  those  who  rested  on  it  might  fancy  them- 
selves in  the  country.  Sewers  and  bilge-water  were  the  best- 
known  smells  in  this  region,  and  he  fought  them  with  hyacinths 
and  heliotrope  and  violets.  In  the  school-room  above,  and 
through  the  lodging-house  which  was  part  of  the  mission  of  the 
building,  plants  and  flowers  were  scattered  about,  unconsciously 
taming  the  rough  little  subjects  who  came  in,  and  who  begged 
for  a  single  flower  with  an  eagerness  that  could  not  be  denied. 

Windows  overran  with  them.  Bud  and  blossom,  green 
leaves,  and  trailing  vines,  were  everywhere.     The  little  yard 


TAMINo    LITTLE    VAG  IB<  >NDS. 


307 


was  fulL,  and  the  superintendent  proceeded  to  build  a  green- 
house, where,  though  he  had  never  learned  the  art  of  floricul- 
ture, he  had  marvelous  success.  Soon  a  novel  reward  was  sug- 
gested to  the 

young  v  2 
bonds  of  Riv- 
ington  Street. 
—  and  indeed 
of  the  whole 
region, —  who 
flocked  in. 
full  of  delight 
over  the  grow- 
ing things. 
The  best  chil- 
dren in  the 
school  were 
allowed  to 
take  a  plant 
home  with 
them;  and  if 
they  brought 
it  back  in  a 
few  months. 
improved  and 
well    care  d 

for,  they  received  others  as  a  premium.  Soon  in  the  windows 
of  the  poorest,  most  tumble-down  houses  and  tenement  rooker- 


IX    THE    l'KorAOATIM;    UnoM. 


ies  one  saw  flower 


or 


met  the  little  savages  of  the 


district  carrying  a  plant  more  carefully  than  they  did  the  baby 
entrusted  to  their  care.  A  little  aquarium  in  the  school-room. 
with  its  aquatic  plants,  was  no  less  a  dear  delight,  and  children 
came  from  miles  away,  attracted  by  the  fame  the  flowers  and 
plants  had  given  to  the  mission. 

The  supply  of  flowers  proved  utterly  inadequate  to  the  de- 
mand. Sick  children  in  the  Ward  begged  for  them,  and  a  few 
wealthy  persons  who  knew  of  the  work  that  was  being  carried 


308  FAIRY   LAND   FOR   LITTLE   RAGAMUFFINS. 

on  sent  occasional  supplies  from  their  greenhouses ;  but  even 
this  was  not  enough,  and  formal  appeal  was  made  to  the  pub- 
lic for  flowers  for  the  poor,  and  especially  for  the  Sick  Child- 
ren's Mission  and  the  hospital. 

It  was  thus  that  the  first  Flower  Mission  of  New  York  be- 
gan its  work.  The  appeal  was  generously  answered  from  all 
sides.  Sunday-school  children  especially  were  interested  in 
hearing  of  the  sick  children  who  perhaps  had  never  seen  a 
flower,  and  they  gathered  wild  ones  or  began  little  gardens  on 
their  own  account.  A  receiving-room  was  soon  a  necessity, 
where  all  flowers  were  sent.  A  large  table  long  enough  and 
broad  enough  to  hold  the  loose  flowers  and  allow  of  sort- 
ing them,  shallow  troughs  for  receiving  the  bouquets,  plenty  of 
string  and  scissors,  and  a  few  chairs  completed  the  furniture  of 
the  room. 

Beginning  as  a  Mission,  the  undertaking,  like  everything 
else  with  which  Mr.  Brace  had  to  do,  took  on  many  phases. 
As  much  space  as  possible  had  been  utilized  for  lodgers. 
A  school  had  been  opened  at  once,  and  the  care  of  plants  and 
flowers  had  ^een  part  of  its  work;  and  thus,  as  the  building 
enlarged  and  the  work  grew,  many  interests  centered  under  the 
one  roof,  and  still  distinguish  it  from  other  "  Homes  "  belong- 
ing to  the  same  Society. 

In  the  Home  itself,  which  very  shortly  became  the  property 
of  the  Society,  and  which  is  now  known  as  the  "East  Side 
Lodging-House  for  Boys,"  another  feature  was  soon  added. 
A  small  building  was  put  up  in  the  rear  for  bathing  purposes, 
and  upon  this  a  greenhouse  was  built,  opening  into  the  school- 
room, so  that  to-day  every  street  waif  who  looks  up  from  his 
desk  sees  a  vista  of  flowers.  The  superintendent's  own  rooms 
are  a  bower  of  green,  and  the  expression  of  the  whole  place  is 
unlike  that  of  any  other  Home  or  Refuge  in  the  whole  city.  A 
propagating-house  was  added,  from  which  thousands  of  slips 
were  given  out ;  and  recently  its  capacity  has  been  so  increased 
that  over  fifty  thousand  plants  are  propagated  from  seeds 
or  cuttings  during  the  year. 

The  great  difficulty  comes  with  the  winter  months,  when 


RAISING    FLOWERS   IN   TENEMENT    HOUSES. 


distributing  work  among  the  tenements  ceases,  and  the  young 

potted  stock  must  be  cared  for.  Most  of  the  yonng  plants  are 
given  as  prizes  to  the  children  of  the  many  Industrial  Schools 
connected  with  the  Society,  and  a  floral  festival  once  a  year 
brings  them  back  again  as  evidence  of  the  care  bestowed  On 
that  day  the  mothers  come  with  the  children,  and  the  spacious 
audience-room  is  filled  with  a  mass  of  green.     The  lm'Hs  sue- 


^^hk;i 


THE    YIKW    FROM    TILF    SCHOOI/-BOOM. 


ceed  best,  and  show  their  specimens  with  pride.  Often  a 
severe  winter  kills  their  pets,  but  this  is  much  less  common 
since  the  use  of  self-feeding  stoves  began,  which  even  in  the 
coldest  nights  keep  the  temperature  above  freezing-point. 

Thousands  of  poor  families  now  have  their  windows  filled 
with  beautiful  plants.  They  have  learned  the  art  of  propagat- 
ing the  hardiest  kinds,  and  ivies,  fuchsias,  and  geraniums 
flourish  under  then1  care.  But  there  is  always  lack  of  pots. 
Old  tin  cans  with  flaming  labels,  or  small  wooden  boxes,  take 
their  place,  but  the  plants  can  never  thrive  so  well  as  in  pots 
with  proper  drainage.  To  supply  the  demand  for  them  would 
require  a  fund  of  not  less  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
and  this  has  never  yet  been  raised. 

There  are  Floral  Committees  in  many  of  the  surrounding 
countrv  towns,  and  there  is  growing  interest  in  the  work  of 

*    19 


310  FLOWERS   AMONG   THE   SICK   AND   POOR. 

Flower,Missions.  The  season  opens  about  the  first  of  May  with 
bouquets  of  wild  flowers,  and  closes  in  November  with  gor- 
geous chrysanthemums. 

Flowers  come  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  Those  who  understand 
the  work  either  make  them  in  small  bouquets  or  separate  the 
varieties,  laying  them  in  flat  baskets  with  layers  of  wet  cotton 
batting  between.  Often  they  come  in  great  bunches  and  must 
be  sorted  and  made  over.  Railroads  and  express  companies  de- 
liver them  free,  and  each  year  the  interest  increases. 

Distribution  is  the  heaviest  task.  City  missionaries,  Bible 
readers,  nurses,  and  druggists  throughout  the  poor  districts,  all 
co-operate  in  the  work,  and  last  year  saw  the  distribution  of 
over  a  hundred  thousand  bouquets  and  bunches  of  flowers 
among  the  sick  and  the  poor.  The  general  mission  known  as 
the  New  York  City  Flower  Mission,  whose  rooms  are  at  104 
East  Twentieth  Street,  does  active  work  from  May  to  November, 
distributing  both  flowers  and  fruit.  Four  hundred  towns  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  city  are  contributors,  and  Smith,  Amherst, 
and  Yassar  colleges  also  send  flowers.  Not  only  hospitals  of 
all  sorts,  but  the  Homes  for  the  Aged  and  Infirm  are  now  in- 
cluded in  the  work  of  distribution. 

Some  donors  make  a  specialty  of  one  flower.  Pinks  come 
in  profusion  from  one  well  known  name ;  and  an  unknown  con- 
tributor, registered  as  the  "pansy  man,"  sends  in  thousands  of 
his  favorite  flower ;  while  from  another  source,  in  one  year, 
came  eighteen  hundred  pond-lilies.  Fruit  is  distributed  to 
some  extent,  but  flowers  seem  most  desired.  Men  in  hospitals 
beg  for  pinks  and  look  after  the  distributors  with  hungry  eyes. 
Women  prefer  roses,  and  the  children  clutch  at  anything  with 
color  and  sweetness. 

There  are  as  many  stories  as  flowers  in  this  work.  In  one 
window  of  a  rear  tenement  three  geraniums  bloom  and  show 
thrifty  growth,  which  owe  their  life  to  the  care  of  three  tots 
who  daily  take  them  to  walk  with  a  devotion  which  even 
the  street  Arabs  respect.  They  march  with  them  to  Tompkins 
Square  and  sit  in  the  sun  till  the  pots  are  supposed  to  be 
charged  with  it.     That  they  are  giving  themselves  also  a  bath 


BRIGHTENING    TIN:    llo.MKS   OF   THE   POOR. 


311 


of  healing  and  health  does  not  suggest  itself  directly,  but  in- 
directly many  a  mother  has # learned  that,  if  plants  would 
thrive,  sun  and  air  and  water  must  be  had,  and  lias  in  degree 
at  least  applied  the  lesson  to  the  little  human  plants  in  her 
keeping. 

In  the  general  distribution  all  classes  are  cared  for.     From 
the    sick  child   in 

■   • 


hospital    ward    01 


' 


stifling  tenement- 
house,  to  the  sew- 
ing-girl working- 
through  the  long- 
summer  days  on 
the  heavy  woolen 
garments  that 
must  be  ready  for 
the  Fall  and  Win- 
ter trade,  there  is 
always  the  sorrow 
of  the  poor  and 
the  bitter  want 
that  is  so  often 
part  of  the  trage- 
dy. Not  till  one 
has  seen  how  pale 
faces  light,  and 
thin  hands  stretch 
eagerly  for  this  bit 
of  brightness  and 
comfort  can  there  WINNERS  OF  T1IE  p*uze.    poor  children  carrying 

i  i  ,.  HOME   GROWING   PLANTS. 

be  much  realiza- 
tion of  what  the  Flower  Mission  really  does  and  what  it 
means  to  its  thousands  of  beneficiaries.  The  poorest  know  it 
best.  There  is  a  grim  tenement-house  on  Roosevelt  Street 
where  a  pretty  child,  with  drunken  father  and  hard-working 
patient  mother,  lay  day  after  day  in  the  exhaustion  of  fever. 
Nothing  could  rouse  him,  and   the  mother  said  sorrowfully, 


312  THE   WONDERFUL   INFLUENCE   OF   FLOWERS. 

"He'll 'go  the  way  of  all  the  rest,  an'  I'm  not  knowin'  but 
hell  be  better  off." 

A  city  missionary  bearing  her  load  of  bloom  from  country 
fields  and  meadows  brought  in  a  bunch  of  buttercups  and  laid 
them  in  the  wasted  little  hand,  which  closed  upon  them  with 
sudden  energy.  The  dim  eyes  opened  wide,  and  the  dry  little 
lips  smiled  faintly  as  the  child  looked  at  the  pretty  yellow 
flowers.  All  that  Monday  he  held  them  tight,  clasping  them 
closer,  and  his  mother  tried  to  take  them  and  put  them  in 
water.  When  he  fell  asleep  she  set  them  in  a  broken  cup  close 
by  him,  and  he  reached  for  them  as  soon  as  he  awoke.  On 
Thursday  the  missionary,  who  came  again  with  fresh  ones, 
found  the  withered  stems  still  in  the  little  hand. 

"Sure  I've  done  the  best  I  could,"  said  the  mother,  "an' 
kep'  them  in  water  whenever  he'd  give  me  the  chance,  but 
he  won't  hear  to  their  bein'  anywhere  but  just  in  his  hand. 
They'll  be  the  makin'  of  him,  maybe,  an'  now  he's  willin'  to 
eat,  an'  I'm  thinkin',  please  God,  he'll  live  after  all." 

The  crippled  children  show  the  same  delight,  carrying  the 
flowers  to  bed  with  them,  and  watching  the  distributors  with 
eager  eyes.  Prisoners  in  the  jail,  men  and  women  alike, 
stretch  their  hands  through  the  bars  for  them,  and  there  is 
one  woman  whose  life,  to  the  deep  amazement  of  everybody 
concerned,  has  altered  utterly  under  their  influence. 

It  is  "  Long  Sal,"  well  known  to  the  "  Hook "  as  thief, 
drunkard,  fighter,  and  general  disturber  of  the  peace  ;  a  pow- 
erful creature  nearly  six  feet  tall  and  with  muscles  of  a  man, 
who  fought  and  bit  when  arrested,  and  had  left  her  mark  on 
many  a  policeman.  Over  and  over  again  she  had  been  sent  to 
the  Island,  emerging  sometimes  to  a  period  of  hard  work 
which  she  knew  well  how  to  do,  and  then  relapsing  into  old 
ways. 

Into  the  Tombs  one  day  came  the  city  missionary  with 
some  tiny  bouquets,  a  sprig  of  geranium  and  a  bright  verbena, 
and  "Long  Sal"  looked  at  her  wistfully.  The  missionary  had 
not  meant  to  give  her  one.  Indeed  there  had  been  no  thought 
that  she  would  do  anything  but  throw  them  aside  contempt- 


AND   hkk  (.i:i:ami.m.  313 

uously.  But  "Long  Sal"  eagerly  took  them  and  retreated  to 
her  cell,  from  which  issued  presently  a  call  for  the  matron. 
This  patient  and  much-enduring  woman,  who  appeared  in  due 
time,  looked  with  amazement  hardly  less  than  that  of  the 
missionary  at  the  new  expression  on  Sal's  blear-eyed,  sodden 
face. 

"I  used  to  have  great  rack  with  slips  when  I  was  a  gal," 
said  "Long  Sal."  "Gimme  a  bottle  or  something  with  water 
in  it,  and  morn  likely  this  bit  o'  geranium  will  live." 

The  matron  brought  it  silently,  fearing  to  add  a  word,  and 
Sal  tended  her  geranium  with  devotion,  sending  it  out  regu- 
larly by  the  keeper  for  air  and  a  sunning.  It  prospered,  and  as 
it  grew  something  grew  with  it.  When  Sal's  day  of  release 
came  she  looked  at  the  three  new  leaves  on  her  slip  as  if  each 
one  were  a  talisman,  and  the  matron  said  to  her : 

"  When  you  are  settled,  Sal,  and  at  work  again,  I  will  give 
you  another  plant.'' 

Sal  was  silent,  but  as  she  walked  away  bearing  the  precious 
baby  geranium  she  cast  back  one  look  at  the  matron,  —  an  in- 
scrutable look  that  might  mean  a  fixed  intention  not  to  settle 
down  at  all,  or  a  dim  and  undefined  resolution  to  make  the 
plant  life  a  success  whatever  might  come  to  her  own. 

It  is  the  truest  things  that  carry  often  the  most  improbable 
sound  with  their  telling,  and  so  all  are  welcome  to  doubt  the 
tale.  But  it  stands  on  record  that  Sal,  though  yielding  nowr 
and  then  to  her  old  temptation  of  drink,  remained  faithful  to 
whatever  pledge  she  had  made  the  geranium,  which  grows  still, 
a  great  plant,  every  leaf  cared  for  to  the  utmost  by  the  woman 
who  was  once  the  terror  of  the  Ward.  She  is  not  a  saint  even 
now,  but  she  is  no  longer  a  terror,  nor  is  she  alone  in  the  ex- 
perience which  bears  witness  to  what  power  dwells  in  beauty, 
and  how  even  what  looks  most  helpless  may  through  the  min- 
istry of  flowers  be  reached  in  ways  of  which  man  has  not  yet 
found  out  the  knowledge. 

The  Fresh  Air  Fund  and  its  mission  are  no  less  important ; 
but  it  reaches  children  alone,  though  in  special  cases  infants 
with  their  mothers  are  allowed  to  share  its  benefits.      This 


314  AN  INSPIRATION  FROM  HEAVEN. 

form  of  charity,  however,  is  rather  for  the  Seaside  Homes,  and 
one  or  'two  places  where  small  Homes  have  been  opened  for 
those  who  need  the  country.  The  Fresh  Air  Fund  known  at 
present  as  the  "  Tribune  Fresh  Air  Fund  "  is  quite  apart  from 
these,  and  began,  like  the  work  of  the  Children's  Aid  Society, 
in  the  thought  of  one  man. 

It  is  to  the  Kev.  Willard  Parsons,  then  a  minister  in  a  little 
country  town  in  Pennsylvania,  that  the  movement  owes  its 
birth.  Yet  true  to  that  curious  law  by  which  in  spots  far  re- 
mote from  each  other  the  same  thought  makes  itself  felt,  a  wise 
woman  whose  name  is  associated  with  much  of  the  best  work 
done  in  Philadelphia,  at  the  same  time  and  almost  in  the  same 
way  declared  the  necessity  of  some  action  in  behalf  of  the 
children  of  the  poor,  and  thus  the  "  country  week  "  was  born. 

The  young  minister  shared  the  stir;  perhaps  set  the  first 
waves  in  vibration.  At  any  rate  he  had  long  had  it  at  heart, 
and  it  had  been  talked  over  with  a  woman  who  from  her  in- 
valid room  looked  out  upon  the  world  through  others'  eyes, 
but  with  an  insight  that  went  to  the  heart  of  all  possibilities 
for  help.  Her  word  meant  force  equivalent  to  that  of  a  dozen 
elders,  and  having  told  all  his  heart  and  found  that  his  thought 
was  sane  and  wise,  the  young  minister  went  home  and  preached 
to  his  flock  of  hard-working  Pennsylvania  farmers  a  sermon 
that  bore  more  fruit  than  even  his  wildest  wish  had  conceived 
as  possible. 

The  first  letter  written  on  the  subject  deserves  record  here : 

Sherman,  Penn.,  June  3,  1877. 
My  Dear  Mrs.  L.:  — 

The  ball  is  in  motion.  I  took  for  my  text  this  morning,  "Inasmuch  as 
ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me,"  and 
I  made  the  practical  bearing  of  my  words  the  bringing  out  into  our  homes 
of  some  of  the  waifs  and  outcasts  from  the  city.  One  man  stopped  on 
his  way  home  to  say  that  he  would  take  four.  In  another  house  there 
is  a  call  for  a  mother  and  baby,  and  so  on  through  the  town.  The  en- 
thusiasm and  response  of  my  people  have  delighted  me. 

Next  to  get  the  money ;  then  to  tell  the  children.  Must  not  two  weeks 
in  this  pure  mountain  air  be  felt  by  them  in  after  life?  It  seems  to  me 
that  they  are  all  but  here. 

Now  may  I  have  the  introduction  you  promised  me  to  Dr.  Eggleston? 


"CATCHING   RASPBERRIES."  315 

I  shall  try  for  a  pass  over  the  road  to  go  back  and  forth  with  the  children 
myself,  and  perhaps  I  can  arrange  with  some  of  these  good  people  on  the 
way  to  bring  us  a  country  lunch  as  the  train  cornea  along.  Some  good 
angel  whisper  it  in  the  ears  of  the  little  ones.  Tell  tired  mothers  there 
is  life  for  their  children  in  this  fresh  country  air. 

WlLLASD    PABSONB. 

The  name  was  an  unknown  one  outside  his  own  parish, 
but  through  Dr.  Eggleston,  who  was  just  about  to  sail  for 
Europe,  interest  was  aroused.  The  Erie  Railroad  proved  that 
one  corporation  at  least  had  a  soul,  for  full  fares  were  reduced 
to  half  fares,  and  half  to  quarter,  and  a  pass  was  given  ^\Ir. 
Parsons,  and  on  July  19th  the  first  group  went  out.  Nine 
children,  mere  wraiths  of  what  wholesome  childhood  should 
be,  were  there ;  crippled,  in  consumption,  weak  from  whoop- 
ing-cough, each  one  stamped  by  disease,  and  pinched  and  thin 
for  want  of  food.  There  was  doubt  as  to  how  they  could  bear 
the  journey,  but  excitement  kept  them  up,  and  a  long  night's 
rest  made  them  ready  for  the  miracles  of  the  first  country  day. 

With  morning  they  swarmed  out  to  "catch  raspberries" 
and  make  acquaintance  with  the  soil  in  general,  good  portions 
of  which  were  brought  in  on  clothes  and  hands.  They  proved 
perfectly  manageable,  and  at  the  end  of  the  two  weeks  re- 
turned home  transformed  from  prematurely  old,  sad-eyed 
little  figures,  into  live  children,  weighted  down  with  gifts 
and  crying  to  stay  longer.  Their  places  were  taken  by  seven- 
teen new  ones,  received  this  time  without  anxiety,  for  the 
work  was  now  understood.  A  blue  ribbon  bow  was  chosen 
as  the  badge,  and  the  group  who  next  went  out  were  all  suf- 
ferers with  a  dozen  ailments. 

The  diary  of  that  summer's  work  is  full  of  pathos  and  no 
less  full  of  absurdity.  The  sixty  who  shared  the  good  pro- 
vided for  them  did  so  at  a  total  cost  of  $187.62.  But  it  was 
far  easier  at  first  to  get  the  money  than  to  get  the  children. 
Often  the  little  thing  was  a  bread-winner,  and  the  widowed 
mother  —  perhaps  an  invalid  herself  —  did  not  know  how  to 
spare  the  sum  brought  in.  Sometimes,  too,  the  childish  hands 
did  the  housework  and  "minded  baby"  while  the  mother  went 
out  to  day's  work ;  and  sometimes  there  was  dark  suspicion  of 


316  A  LIFE  OF  BLISS  FOR  CITY   CHILDREN. 

motives,, and  parents  nodded  significantly  as  they  said  to  one 
another, 

"I'll  not  be  lettin'  my  children  be  kidnapped  away,  and  me, 
maybe,  never  settin'  eyes  on  'em  again." 

For  the  most  part  there  was  at  last  full  recognition  of  the 
good  involved.  Often  the  children  made  friends  for  life,  and 
adoption  resulted  in  some  cases.  For  all,  the  same  experience 
was  certain ;  a  fortnight  of  bliss  and  revelation,,  and  a  return 
loaded  down  with  strange  packages  of  everything  that  could  be 
carried. 

The  unpleasant  side  was  chiefly  the  burning  of  straw  and 
washing  of  ticks.  Some  of  the  children  had  never  slept  in  a 
bed,  and  all  required  to  be  taught  what  daily  washing  meant 
and  all  the  first  principles  of  cleanliness. 

Yery  soon  it  became  evident  that  working  girls  needed  help 
almost  as  seriously,  but  many  objections  arose.  Children  could 
be  disciplined  and  taught  much  even  in  a  week's  stay,  but 
growing  girls,  pert,  very  probably,  self-sufficient  and  aggres- 
sive, were  a  very  different  matter.  One  resolute  woman  who 
had  announced  that  she  would  tie  her  own  children  to  a  tree  if 
need  be,  rather  than  reject  the  waif  who  needed  her  home,  de- 
cided to  take  in  the  girls  and  see  what  would  come  of  it.  They 
were  to  pay  what  they  could,  and  the  rate  was  fixed  at  two  dol- 
lars a  week. 

Six  girls  came  for  a  fortnight,  and  never  did  dollars  of  their 
earning  produce  such  rich  results.  So  far  from  being  aggres- 
sive, they  were  gentle,  timid,  over-worked  creatures,  requiring 
constant  assurance  to  make  them  willing  to  take  all  intended 
for  them.  Other  doors  were  opened  at  once.  It  was  found 
that  three  dollars  a  week  for  board  and  washing  still  left  a 
margin  of  profit  for  their  entertainers. 

To-day,  shop-girls  and  working-girls  of  every  order  are  pro- 
vided for,  and  also  young  mothers  worn  with  care,  and  work- 
ing-women in  all  occupations.  Mr.  Parsons  has  for  years  had 
full  charge  of  what  is  generally  known  as  "  The  Tribune  Fresh 
Air  Fund,"  but  many  papers  aid  in  the  same  work,  recognizing 
him  as  leader.     It  is  impossible  to  give  more  than  a  hint  of  its 


nil.   BEGINNING  OF  A   nkw   LIFE.  317 

wide-reaching  beneficence ;  but  a  typical  case  must  find  room 
here,  as  the  strongest  illustration  of  what  possibilities  lie  in  the 
work,  which  is  far  more  in  the  line  of  the  self-protection  of 

society  than  a  charity. 

Long  ago  in  a  dull  old  street,  making  part  of  an  equally 

dull  and  colorless  part  of  old  New  York,  a  very  solitary  child 
extracted  such  amusement  from  life  as  forty  feet  of  hack  yard 
could  afford.  He  sat  in  his  small  rocking-chair  and  listened  to 
the  talk  about  him.  growing  a  little  paler,  a  little  more  uncanny 
all  the  time,  till  one  day  a  country  cousin  appeared,  and.  horri- 
fied that  anything  so  old  and  weazened  could  call  itself  a  boy, 
begged  that  he  might  «'o  home  with  her. 

There  was  infinite  objection,  but  her  point  was  finally  car- 
ried, and  the  child  found  himself  suddenly  in  a  country  village, 
a  great  garden  about  the  house,  a  family  dog  and  cat.  a  cow, 
an  old  horse,  and  all  the  belono-ino-s  of  village  life.  Old-fash- 
ioned  flowers  were  all  about,  and  the  old-fashioned  boy  sat 
down  in  the  garden  path  by  a  bed  of  spice  pinks  and  looked 
at  them,  his  hands  folded,  and  a  species  of  adoration  on  his  face. 

''Pick  some,"  said  the  cousin.  "Pick  as  many  as  you  want." 

"Pick  them  !"  repeated  the  old-fashioned  boy.  I'm  afraid 
to.     Ain't  they  God's?" 

An  hour  later  the  seven  years'  crust  had  broken  once  for 
all,  and  the  child  who  had  to  be  put  to  bed  exhausted  from  his 
scrambles  through  and  over  every  unaccustomed  thing  began 
to  live  his  first  day  of  real  child  life.  When  the  time  came  for 
his  return,  he  begged  with  such  passion  of  eagerness,  such 
storms  of  sobs  and  cries,  for  longer  stay,  that  the  unwilling- 
aunt  and  grandmother  left  him  there,  and,  finding  the  transfor- 
mation when  he  did  return  beyond  either  comprehension  or 
management,  sent  him  back  to  the  life  he  craved. 

To-day  he  holds  high  rank  among  American  painters, 
though  only  Heaven  knows  how  the  possibility  of  such  devel- 
opment found  place  in  this  strange  offshoot  of  a  Philistine  race. 
But  he  counts  his  own  birthday  from  the  hour  when  the  first 
sense  of  sky  and  grass  and  flowers  dawned  upon  him,  and  he 
looked  upon  the  garden  that  he  thought  truly  God  had  planted. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

A  DAY  IN  A  FREE  DISPENSARY  —  RELIEVING  THE  SUFFERING 
POOR  — MISSIONARY  NURSES  AND  THEIR  WORK  — A  TOUCH- 
ING STORY. 

From  Hod-Carrying  to  Aldermen  —  Leavening  the  Whole  Lump  —  A  Great 
Charity  —  Filthy  but  Thrifty  — A  Day  at  the  Eastern  Dispensary  — 
Diseases  Springing  from  Want  and  Privation  —  A  Serious  Crowd  —  Sift- 
ing out  Impostors  —  The  Children's  Doctor  —  Forlorn  Faces  —  A  Doomed 
Family  —  A  Scene  on  the  Stairs  —  Young  Roughs  and  Women  with 
Blackened  Eyes  — A  Labor  of  Love  — Dread  of  Hospitals—  "They  Cut 
You  Open  Before  the  Breath  is  out  of  Your  Body  "  —  The  Black  Bot- 
tle —  Sewing  up  a  Body  and  Making  a  Great  Pucker  in  the  Seam  —  A 
Missionary  Nurse  —  A  Tale  of  Destitution,  Sickness,  and  Death  —  A 
Pathetic  Appeal  —  A   Starving   Family  —  Just   in   Time  —  Heartbroken 

—  A  Fight  with  Death— "Work   is  all  I  Want"— A  Merciful  Release 

—  Affecting  Scenes  —  A  Ceaseless  Vigil. 

IN  the  lower  wards  of  the  city  is  concentrated  the  strange 
foreign  life  that  gives  New  York  its  title  of  "  cosmopoli- 
tan." One  might  even  say  that  these  streets  with  their  always 
flowing  tide  of  humanity,  a  procession  never  ending  and  never 
ceasing  its  march,  was  simply  the  continuation  of  that  begun 
in  the  middle  ages,  of  which  Michelet  says  that  they  presented 
the  spectacle  only  of  a  vast  funeral  pile,  on  which  mounted 
successively  Jew,  Saracen,  Catholic,  and  Protestant. 

We  do  not  burn  the  people,  but  we  do  stifle  and  poison 
them  in  the  tenement-houses  which  are  the  disgrace  of  the  city. 
In  the  old  days  —  say  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago  —  these  streets 
were  quiet  shaded  places  filled  with  the  homes  of  the  well-to- 
do.  First  came  the  Irish,  and  the  Americans  fled  before  them. 
Presently  the  new-comers  vacated  the  tenement-houses  for  bet- 
ter quarters  a  little  farther  up,  and  as  they  left  hod-carrying 
and  kindred  employments,  and  developed  into  the  rulers  of  the 
city,  they  ascended  still  farther,  till  now  Fifth  Avenue  knows 

(318) 


DRIVEN    PROM    PILLAR  TO   POS1 .  .  319 

them,  and  many  another  street  into  which  money  has  carried 
them.     Later  came  the  Italians  to  fill  the  emptying  places, 

while  the  German  Jews  crowded  the  streets  farther  down. 
Now  they  too  are  moving  on,  forced  ont  by  the  swarm  of 
Polish,  Hungarian,  and  Russian  Jews.  They  iill  whole  streets, 
as  well  as  the  schools  which  once  had  a  monopoly  of  the  Ger- 
man element,  and  the  old  New  Yorker  occasionally  wonders 
where  the  American  is  to  go. 

( iosmopolitan  the  city  certainly  is.  since  it  is  the  first  Irish 
and  the  third  German  city  in  the  world.  But  one  soon  discov- 
ers that  even  under  its  most  foreign  aspect  these  new  arrivals 
grouped  in  picturesque  confusion  are  not  by  any  means  the 
same  as  when  at  home.  Already  the  new  leaven  has  begun  to 
work.  The  races  have  not  yet  blended,  but  the  mere  presence 
and  contact  of  all  these  dissimilar  atoms  results  in  an  amalgam 
which  is  itself  American.  London  is  an  enormous  aggregation 
of  little  villages.  Xew  York  —  even  when  one  sees  that  each 
nationality  has  its  own  distinct  place  —  is  yet  one,  since  every 
ballot  cast  in  the  eight  or  nine  hundred  ballot-boxes  open  on 
election  day  finds  its  way  at  last  to  one  center,  typical  of  the 
real  union  underlying  all  differences. 

The  terror  often  expressed  as  to  the  characteristics  of  the 
Prussian  and  Polish  Jews  is.  to  one  who  has  watched  them 
closely,  a  very  unfounded  one.  Xo  one  knows  this  better  than 
the  physicians  of  the  great  charity  known  as  the  Eastern  Dis- 
pensary, which  every  year  treats  over  60,000  charity  patients, 
mostly  foreigners  who  are  too  poor  to  pay  for  medical  advice 
or  needed  medicine.  The  point  in  regard  to  which  fear  is  quite 
legitimate  is  the  filth  in  which  they  live,  and  the  fact  that  in 
such  filth  contagion  is  inevitable.  Aside  from  this  they  are  far 
above  the  Irish  in  two  cardinal  virtues,  thrift  and  abstemious- 
ness. These  virtues  soon  put  them  on  their  feet,  and  make 
them  in  time  property-owners  and  employers. 

Why  have  they  come  '.  Because  political  persecution  drove 
them  from  home.  They  were  a  friendless  people  before  they 
came.  They  were  not  wanted  there,  and  they  are  not  wanted 
here;  and  yet  they  are  here,  to  be  dealt  with  in  such  fashion 


320  A  VISIT  TO  A  CITY  DISPENSARY. 

as  we  may.  They  are  the  most  destitute  people  in  the  United 
States,  for  many  of  them  fled  from  home  leaving  every  posses- 
sion behind,  and  landed  on  free  soil  paupers  in  everything  but 
determination  to  work  and  earn.  They  land  at  Castle  Garden, 
sick  from  confinement  and  dreadful  crowding  at  sea,  without 
money  and  without  friends,  and  are  directed  to  that  quarter  of 
the  city  that  has  become  almost  the  exclusive  property  of  their 
countrymen.  They  are  hardly  ever  chronic  charity -seekers. 
Their  diseases  come  from  want  and  privation,  —  very  seldom 
from  excess ;  and  whoever  looks  into  their  patient  faces  sees  a 
type  that  under  favorable  conditions  will  do  good  service  to 
the  Republic. . 

What  is  a  day  at  the  great  Eastern  Dispensary  like  ?  We 
will  take  Saturday,  since  it  is  the  Hebrew  holiday,  and  all  the 
mothers  who  have  been  too  busy  through  the  week  to  pay 
much  attention  to  their  children's  ailments  wash  and  comb 
them  now,  and  make  part  of  the  long  procession  climbing  the 
stairs  of  the  old  armory  which  has  for  many  years  served  as 
dispensary,  and  which  forms  part  of  the  old  Essex  Street 
Market. 

All  the  way  down  Grand  Street  from  the  Bowery  it  is  a 
German  city  that  we  are  in,  till,  as  Essex  Street  is  neared,  the 
names  change  somewhat,  and  over  the  little  shops  one  sees 
Hebrew  signs  and  other  tongues  no  less  bewildering.  Hardly 
an  American  is  visible,  save  a  stray  visitor  it  may  be,  or  some 
one  hurrying  through  on  business.  The  current  at  Essex 
Street  sets  toward  the  Dispensary.  One  has  only  to  follow, 
and  in  a  moment,  as  the  corner  is  turned,  one  sees  the  long 
flight  of  stairs  and  becomes  one  of  the  climbing  crowd. 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  a  door  opens  into  a  large  room  in 
which  are  many  benches,  all  of  different  colors.  This  is  the 
first  mystery,  soon  made  plain.  At  the  upper  end  of  the  room 
is  a  railed-off  corner, —  the  distributing  bureau ;  and  before  the 
physician  in  charge  is  a  long  pad  of  tickets,  of  the  same  colors 
as  the  benches.  The  managing  physician  smiles  as  he  antici- 
pates our  question  —  Why  these  many-colored  tickets  and 
benches  ? 


HOW    THE    PATIENTS    A  K I :    MANAGED. 


321 


"Generally 

sarv."  he  say 


but  one  ticket  is  given  in  the  ordinary  dispen- 
s.     "It  gets  dirty  or  torn,  and  there  is  also  the 

danger  of  some  infections  disease  being  communicated  by  it. 
Now  we  give  fresh  tickets  at  every  visit,  and.  as  most  of  the 
patients  cannot  read,  the  tickets  are  colored  like  the  benches,  so 
that  patients  know  just 
where  to  go  and  wait 
their  turn.  All  these 
doors  opening  from  this 
receiving-room  lead  into 
the  rooms  where  each 
specialty  is  treated.  For 
example,  this  red  ticket  is 
surgical,  and  the  patient 
goes  and  sits  on  a  red 
bench  till  he  hears  the  lit- 
tle bell  from  within  which 
is  the  signal  to  tell  him 
his  turn  has  come.  Blue 
is  medical ;  yellow,  eye 
and  ear ;  gray,  diseases 
of  women  and  children ; 
green,  dental.  The  white 
tickets  —  one  with  letters 
printed  in  blue  and  the 
other  in  red  ink  —  indi- 
cate the  morning  medical 
and  surgical  treatment. 
They  are  all  numbered, 
you  see,  and  thus  form 
a  register  of  the  number  of  cases  daily,  and  their  character. 
Now  the  different  rooms  in  turn  can  be  visited,  and  an  idea  of 
the  whole  got  in  this  way." 

It  was  hard  to  leave  the  corner  from  which  observations 
could  be  taken  at  this  first  point  of  all.  The  great  room  had 
already  over  a  hundred  in  waiting,  chiefly  mothers  with  babies 
or  little  children,  but  all  ages  were  there  also,  and  all  degrees 


ITALIAN    MOTHER    AND    HF.I!    SICK    CHILD 
AT   TIIK    DISPENSARY. 


322  WHERE  THE  SICK  POOR  OBTAIN  MEDICINES. 

of  forlprnness.  All  languages  were  heard,  but  the  German 
preponderated,  as  all  spoke  it  with  more  or  less  fluency.  Many 
of  them  could  not  understand  why  they  could  not  be  treated  at 
once,  but  they  moved  on  at  last,  accepting  the  testimony  of 
some  one  more  familiar  with  the  routine.  Formerly  all  medi- 
cine was  free,  and  if  a  patient  did  not  like  it  he  broke  his  bottle 
and  came  back  for  another  kind. 

With  the  attempt  to  make  the  institution  self-supporting, 
this  ended.  Free  medicine  is  still  given  to  those  who  cannot 
pay,  but,  recognizing  the  pauperizing  tendency  of  the  free 
system  for  all,  a  fee  of  ten  cents  is  now  charged  for  those  who 
can  pay.  The  Irish  complain  loudly  of  this  arrangement  and 
demand  free  treatment,  but  the  majority  of  the  Hebrews  pay 
without  question.  Where  they  say  they  cannot,  they  receive 
medicine  free  on  the  first  application,  and  their  names  are  sent 
to  the  United  Hebrew  Charities  Association,  or  to  that  for 
"  Improving  the  Condition  of  the  Poor,"  for  investigation.  The 
result  of  this  is  reported  back  to  the  Dispensar}^.  Thus  all 
applicants  get  immediate  treatment,  impostors  are  sifted  out, 
and  the  deserving  poor  are  brought  to  the  notice  of  the  benevo- 
lent at  the  time  they  most  need  it. 

Let  us  follow  a  patient  with  a  blue  ticket  into  the  medical 
room.  Our  way  lies  past  the  drug  department,  before  the 
window  of  which  a  crowd  is  already  gathered.  It  is  a  motley 
one,  stolid  or  eager,  as  national  temperament  compels.  Weary 
mothers  with  sick  and  wailing  babies  in  their  arms ;  women 
with  bandaged  heads  and  men  with  arms  in  slings ;  children 
sent  by  sick  fathers  and  mothers  at  home  for  needed  medicine. 
On  most  of  them  is  the  unmistakable  look  that  tells  of  patient 
suffering  and  half-starved  lives.  There  is  the  Irishwoman 
ready  for  instant  assault  on  the  clerk  if  he  fails  to  give  full 
measure,  and  her  brother  countryman  swearing  that  the  city 
lets  its  doctor  charge  ten  cents  for  a  prescription  "  whin  it's  a 
free  country  an'  if  all  had  their  rights  charges  would  go  down 
in  a  minute."  The  Italians  eye  them  disdainfully  and  pay 
their  money  with  dignity,  and  the  sad-eyed  Kussian  Jews  give 
no  token  of  what  the  inward  comment  may  be.     Keticence  has 


WASTED    BODIES    AND    FORLORN    FACES.  325 

grown  with  every  century  of  oppression  and  even  freedom  does 

not  break  the  spell. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  medical  room  hut  a  table  at  which 
sit  two  physicians;  two  or  three  chairs,  and  a  tew  instruments 
near  the  washstand.     Before  one  of  the  young,  eager-looking 

men  is  a  large  open  book,  and  the  hesitating  mother  who  has 
just  entered  with  her  babe  looks  at  it  apprehensively.  It  is  the 
register  of  cases,  so  admirably  arranged  as  to  be  a  history  of 
each  one.  The  questions  include  name,  age,  birthplace,  nation- 
ality, and  disease,  with  memoranda  as  to  treatment. 

The  applicants  are  in  all  degrees  of  trepidation.  Now  and 
then  a  young  girl  may  laugh  as  she  answers  the  queries,  but  for 
the  most  part  there  is  seriousness  painful  to  witness.  The  chief 
difficulty  appears  to  be  bronchial  troubles.  Often  it  is  a  touch 
of  pneumonia,  or  influenza ;  most  often  dyspepsia,  born  of 
insufficient  and  improper  food.  The  keen-eyed  young  doctor 
has,  like  all  dispensary  physicians,  gained  the  power  of  almost 
instant  diagnosis,  and  it  will  do  him  admirable  service  when 
he  forsakes  this  training-school  for  general  practice.  It  is  this 
that  makes  the  experience  so  valuable  and  so  much  sought 
after  that  admission  is  now  on  formal  and  rigid  examination, 
and  the  position  is  no  longer  unpaid  as  formerly,  but  a  salaried 
one. 

There  is  no  time  to  hear  the  stories  many  would  tell. 
These  come  later  when  the  visiting  physicians  make  their 
rounds.  One  can  see  without  words  what  some  of  them  must 
be,  but  now  and  then  there  is  a  pause  as  some  specially  sad 
case  presents  itself,  and  the  young  doctor's  eyes  look  pitifully 
at  the  forlorn  faces.  But  the  bench  is  full  of  waiting  patients, 
and  we  must  pass  on  to  the  surgical  room. 

It  is  only  slight  operations  that  are  performed  here,  all 
severer  ones  going  to  the  hospitals.  Everything  is  done  with 
antiseptic  methods;  bandages,  instruments,  all  that  must  be 
used,  are  treated  in  this  way,  and  at  the  same  time  everything 
is  done  to  cause  as  little  pain  as  possible.  Chloroform  is 
administered  if  necessary,  and  cocaine  applied  freely  to  lesser 
hurts.     Young  roughs  come  in  to  have  a  cut  from  knuckles 


326 


ROWS  OF   SICK  BABIES. 


sewed  up,  or  a  bad  bruise  dressed.  Women  whose  husbands 
have  beaten  them  or  given  a  black  eye  are  here,  and  all  types 
of  accidental  injuries.  The  work  is  of  the  swiftest.  There  is 
little  outcry,  and  the  cases  succeed  each  other  with  bewildering 
rapidity.  All  are  entered  in  the  register,  as  in  the  other  rooms, 
and  nearly  all  thank  the  doctors  as  they  go  out. 

The  children's  room  is 
just  across,  and  to  reach  it 
we  must  once  more  go 
through  the  motley  throng 
in  the  general  waiting-room. 
By  this  time  it  is  fairly 
swarming;  the  air  is  some- 
thing inexpressible,  though 
windows  are  open  all  about. 
In  the  children's  little  room, 
where  a  dark-eyed  physician 
with  the  gentlest  of  faces  is 
sitting,  a  row  of  babies  of  all 
ages  and  types  is  in  waiting. 
Each  mother,  or  sometimes 
father,  for  these  Hebrew  fath- 
ers are  like  mothers  with 
their  little  ones,  is  told  to 
loosen  all  the  clothing  so  that 
a  thorough  examination  can 
be  made.  Often  it  is  only 
some  lung  or  chest  trouble, 
or  more  often  general  debility 
from  wrong  feeding.  Sores, 
rashes,  and  so  forth,  are  sent  into  the  room  for  skin  diseases. 
Sometimes  the  babies  cry.  Oftener  they  look  with  pleased 
eyes  at  the  kind  faces,  and  sometimes  they  break  into  little 
gurgles  and  coos  of  applause.  But  they  are  sad-eyed  little 
things,  most  of  them,  and  take  life  very  seriously,  and  often 
there  is  the  frightened  look  that  tells  of  neglect  and  frequent 
blows. 


IN   THE    SURGEON  S  ROOM. 


THE   SHADOW    OF    DBA!  H. 


327 


There  are  shrieks  from  the  dental  room  as  we  pass  out,  but 
they  are  mingled  with  a  laugh,  so  that  one  knows  no  tragedy 
is  going  on.  The  tragedy  is  nearer.  On  the  stairs,  waiting 
for  breath  to  come,  sits  a  little  woman,  with  soft,  dark  eyes, 
and  the  look  of  a  hunted  animal.  By  her  is  a  man,  tall  and 
gaunt,  with  sombre  black  eyes  burning  in  his  pale  face. 
The  woman  nods  to 
the  doctor  as  she 
enters  his  room, 
but  she  cannot 
speak  for  the  mo- 
ment, and  the  man 
looks  at  him  dumb- 
ly, every  feature 
worn  with  pain. 
A  child  presses 
against  him  with 
eyes  like  his  own. 
The  doctor  stops 
for  a  moment,  talks 
with  husband  and 
wife  in  German, 
and  bids  the  man 
bare  his  back.  Ap- 
plying the  stetho- 
scope he  listens 
intently  to  the 
patient's  breathing, 
then  turns  away. 

"  There  is  little  to  be  done,"  he  says.      "  He  is  nearly  gone 

in  consumption,  but  he  does  not  know  it  and  I  shall  not  tell 

him ;  his  Avife  has  asthma,  as  well  as  every  one  of  the  four 

children.     They  are  hard  workers,  but  down  with  sickness  half 

the  time,  and  then  they  half  starve,  for  they  tell  no  one  of 

their  condition   till   extremity  is  reached.      The  patience    of 

these  people  has  something  terrible  in  it." 

This  is  the  verdict  of  all  who  work  among  this  order  of  the 
20 


A  HOPELESS  CASE.      EXAMINING    A   PATIENTS    LUNGS 
WITH   THE    STETHOSCOPE. 


328 


BENEFITS   OF   THE   DISPENSARY   SYSTEM. 


poor,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  see  the  change  that  grows  slowly  in 
them  as  the  certainty  of  a  living  and  freedom  from  oppression 
become  confirmed.  Their  children  will  take  on  the  spirit 
of  the  new  life,  and  thus  the  city  will  have  its  return  for 
any  expenditure  of  money  in  general  care. 

The  perfecting  of  the  dispensary  system  means  a  great  de- 
crease   in    the    numbers   who    need    hospital    treatment,    and 

it  is  the  hope 
of  all  who 
understand 
the  vital  na- 
ture of  the 
work  done 
that  the 
forty  or 
more  now  in 
existence 
will  all  be- 
c  o  m  e  self- 
supporting, 
at  least  in 
great  degree. 
Prescribing 
at  the  Dis- 
pensary itself 
is  but  the 

smallest  part  of  the  work  done.  Yisiting  physicians  make 
a  daily  round  among  patients,  and  thus  have  extended 
opportunity  for  detecting  contagious  diseases  in  their  early 
stages,  and  by  taking  prompt  measures  they  prevent  the 
spread  of  such  diseases  throughout  the  city. 

As  illustration,  a  patient  who  applied  at  the  Dispensary  for 
relief  was  found  to  be  suffering  from  scarlet  fever.  He  was 
isolated  from  the  other  patients,  and  notice  was  given  to 
the  Board  of  Health.  He  was  removed  to  his  home  and  placed 
in  charge  of  one  of  the  Dispensary's  visiting  physicians,  who  at- 
tended him  constantly  till  he  was  well.     This  man  lived  in 


A  HEBREW   MOTHER  AND   HER   SICK   BABY. 


DRKAPFIL    POSSIBILITIES. 


:w 


a  crowded  tenement,  and  in  common  with  its  other  occupants 
he  earned  a  living  by  working  with  a  sewing-machine.     The 

Hoard  of  Health  exerted  its  authority,  fumigated  and  disin- 
fected the  house  and  all  clothing  made  or  in  process  of  manu- 
facture, and  prevented  further  similar  work  in  the  building  till 
all  danger  was  past. 
It  is  easy  to  see  the 
extent  to  which  this 
dangerous  disease 
might  have  spread 
but  for  its  prompt 
discovery. 

In  direct  connec- 
tion with  general 
dispensary  work 
one  finds  the  mis- 
sionary nurses,  as 
cheery,  bright-faced 
a  set  of  women  as 
the  city  holds. 
They  must  be 
strong,  for  with 
them  it  is  not  a 
question  of  many 
working  hours,  but 
how  much  endur- 
ance for  constant 
work  of  the  most 
trying  nature  with, 
most  often,  not  more  than  five  hours'  sleep  in  the  twenty-four. 

As  to  their  duties,  they  are  of  all  orders.  First  comes  the 
attempt  to  make  the  patient  go  to  a  good  hospital,  very  often 
unsuccessful  because  the  poor  have  a  terror  of  all  hospitals. 
Even  a  rheumatic  or  partially  paralyzed  patient,  who  must 
necessarily  be  neglected,  since  friends  and  relatives  are  fighting 
for  a  living,  will  refuse  obstinately.  A  dressmaker  who  had 
become  helpless  from  inflammatory  rheumatism  said  : 


EN    THE   CHILDREN'S    CORNER.       THE    DOCTOR    LOOK- 
ING  FOR   VACCINATION    SCARS. 


330  MISSIONARY  NURSES  AND   THEIR  WORK. 

"  I  don't  care.  I'd  rather  die  here  at  home  when  the  time 
comes  than  at  the  hospital,  where  they  cut  you  open  before  the 
breath  is  fairly  out  of  your  body.  That's  the  way  a  friend  of 
mine  was  served  last  year  —  just  cut  right  up.  Her  folks 
didn't  know  no  better  than  let  her  be  took  there,  and  after  her 
death,  which  I  suppose  was  helped  along  by  the  black  bottle, 
them  doctors,  without  asking  leave  of  nobody,  just  slashed  away 
at  the  poor  thing,  and  then  they  botched  her  up  again,  and 
made  a  great  pucker  in  the  seam,  such  as  I  wouldn't  allow 
a  little  'prentice  girl  to  make." 

When  the  nurse  encounters  such  opposition  as  this  she  has 
simply  to  do  the  next  best  thing;  and  this  is  the  comment 
of  one  of  them  on  the  question,  "  What  are  the  duties  of  a  mis- 
sionary nurse  ? " 

"Duties?  Well,  besides  giving  medicine  and  sticking  on 
plasters  and  taking  temperatures,  I  sometimes  have  to  cook 
and  wash  and  scrub  and  beg.  Scarcely  a  day  passes  that  I  don't 
boil  gruel  and  broil  chops  for  sick  people,  and  often  I  have  to 
roll  up  my  sleeves  and  wash  dishes  or  scrub  the  floor.  Then  I 
may  have  to  go  to  some  depository  where  benevolent  persons 
send  contributions,  and  present  a  petition  for  sheets  or  blankets, 
or  whatever  else  is  needed  among  my  patients,  whom  I  some- 
times find  lying  on  piles  of  rags. 

"  My  salary  ?  Forty  dollars  the  first  month  —  the  month 
of  probation,  and  afterwards  fifty  dollars  a  month.  If  you 
were  to  go  the  rounds  with  me  some  day,  I  think  you  would 
say  I  earn  it.  Take  to-day.  I  have  this  case  of  rheumatism  I 
mentioned ;  and  a  consumptive  patient  whose  eyes  I  expect  to 
close  to-night  and  I  have  promised  to  be  with  her  at  the  last. 
Then  I  have  a  cancer  to  dress,  a  bone  felon  to  poultice, 
several  cases  of  malaria  to  look  after,  for  they  need  quinine 
every  hour  in  the  day  and  cannot  be  trusted  to  take  it  by  them- 
selves ;  and  these  are  only  a  few  of  the  cases. 

"Do  I  have  contagious  diseases  among  my  patients? 
Sometimes,  but  one  thing  I  haven't.  There  is  not  a  case  of 
hypochondria  in  my  care.  It  is  the  up-to\vn  nurses  who  have 
to  deal  with  that  kind  of  thing.     My  patients  haven't  any  time 


A   DREADFUL   DISCOVERY.  331 

for  it.  Is  there  a  moral  tucked  away  in  t  li«»t  statement  \  My 
opinion  is  that  there  is  and  a  strong  one." 

Into  the  Dispensary  came  one  day  a  tall  man,  gray-haired, 
and  with  a  face  where  sharp  experience  had  graven  deep  lines 
far  removed  from  the  wrinkles  of  old  age  whose  type  is  most 
often  seen  there.  Patient,  intelligent  eyes  looked  out  under  the 
heavy  brows,  yet  eyes  that  could  flash  at  will,  and  everything 
indicated  fallen  fortunes,  as  to  which  their  owner  would  always 
keep  his  own  counsel. 

He  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  the  head  physician.  It  was 
plain  there  was  something  to  be  asked,  but  evidently  he  Avas 
measuring  the  doctor  before  stating  his  case.  He  had  come 
and  gone  there  for  a  fortnight,  describing  a  case  and  taking 
the  medicine  for  a  crippled  child  who  he  said  could  not  come. 
He  declined  a  visit  from  the  visiting  physicians,  and  the  ail- 
ment was  so  simple  that  they  did  not  press  the  matter.  On  this 
day  he  had  come  late,  and  lingered  till  he  saw  the  head  physi- 
cian take  his  hat.  Then  he  quickly  followed  him,  and,  when 
they  were  outside  the  door,  said: 

"  Doctor,  I  cannot  have  the  others,  but  I  implore  you  to 
come  with  me  for  a  minute.     It  will  not  take  you  more." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  the  visiting  physician?"  the  doctor 
began,  but  stopped  as  he  saw  the  man's  imploring  eyes,  and  felt 
something  more  than  ordinary  need.  The  man  gave  one  grate- 
ful look  as  the  doctor  followed,  then  walked  on  swiftly  to  a 
street  but  a  little  distance  away,  and  turning  the  corner  Avent 
up  the  stairs  of  one  of  the  better  order  of  tenement-houses.  At 
the  top  of  the  stairs  he  paused. 

"  I  have  no  fee,"  he  said.  "  There  is  nothing  left  to  give, 
but  I  Avill  work  it  out  if  any  Avork  can  be  found." 

He  opened  the  door  as  he  spoke  and  held  it  open  for  the 
doctor,  who  entered  and  looked  around  in  dismay.  SaA^e  for 
the  bed,  one  chair,  and  a  kerosene  lamp  OATer  which  the  man 
had  evidently  been  cooking  something,  the  room  Avas  absolutely 
bare.  On  the  bed  lay  the  emaciated  form  of  a  woman,  the 
skin  drawn  tightly  over  the  cheek-bones,  and  the  face  ghastly 
with  suffering.     By  her  si'1    '  «y  the  crippled  child,  with  glassy 


332  STARVING   TO  DEATH. 

eyes,  and  the  same  pinched,  drawn  look.  The  doctor  bent  over 
them  for  a  moment,  and  then  fiercely  exclaimed, 

"  They  are  starving,  man !  What  do  you  mean  by  leaving 
them  to  die  like  this  ?     Are  you  mad  ? " 

"  I  have  begged  for  work  and  there  was  no  work  for  me," 
said  the  man  in  heart-broken  tones.  "  I  have  pawned  all  there 
was  to  pawn  till  there  is  nothing  left.  My  wife  and  child 
are  dying,  I  know,  and  I  must  live  till  they  are  dead.  The 
rest  will  be  easy  enough." 

The  doctor  descended  the  stairs  and  came  back  in  great 
leaps  bearing  restoratives  and  a  can  of  milk  he  had  snatched 
from  the  hand  of  one  of  the  dispensary  patients  met  at  the 
foot  of  the  second  flight.  The  child's  teeth  were  clenched,  but 
after  the  first  spoonful  had  been  forced  between  them  she  drank 
freely.  The  mother  was  more  difficult  to  rouse,  but  soon  she 
too  had  taken  enough  medicine  and  food  to  lose  the  deathlike 
look,  and  then  the  doctor  wrote  a  line  or  two  and  handed  them 
to  the  man. 

"  Go  round  to  the  Dispensary,"  he  said,  "  and  give  this  to 
Dr.  K.,  and  then  come  back  and  tell  me  what  this  means.  They 
must  both  go  to  hospital." 

A  faint  cry  came  from  the  woman,  who  in  a  weak,  almost 
inaudible  voice,  exclaimed, 

"  Oh,  not  that !  Let  us  all  die  if  we  must,  but  here  to- 
gether, not  there.     I  will  not  be  taken  away." 

"  You  shall  not  be  without  your  own  consent,"  said  the  doc- 
tor soothingly,  and  then  waited  quietly  till  the  man  returned 
bringing  the  wine  for  which  he  had  been  sent.  It  was  impossible 
to  move  her  till  she  was  stronger,  for  any  attempt  might  end 
the  feeble  life.  To  provide  actual  necessaries  and  leave  her  in 
the  hands  of  a  missionary  nurse  was  the  only  course,  but  the 
father  protested  that  no  one  must  come,  and  that  he  would  do 
it  all.  He  staggered  from  weakness  even  as  he  protested,  and 
the  doctor,  who  had  diagnosed  his  case  as  of  the  same  order, 
caught  him  as  he  fell  forward.  The  nurse  arrived  while  he 
was  still  unconscious,  and  sped  away  again  to  the  Dispensary  to 
get  necessary  supplies.     A  cot  was  brought  and  set  up,  and  the 


a  i>ori:u<:  tka<.i:io .  333 

haggard  creature  laid  upon  it,  and  plied  with  food  and  restora- 
tives, till  at  last  strength  came  back,  and  then  the  full  story 

was  told. 

lie  was  an  Italian  refugee,  a  former  companion  of  Garibaldi ; 

a  man  of  highest  culture  who  had  married  an  English  wife,  and 
who  came  to  America  in  hope  of  some  day  returning-  home 
with  better  fortunes.  A  line  Linguist,  he  had  taught  languages 
successfully  till  an  operation,  necessitated  by  some  cancerous 
growth  on  the  tongue,  had  ended  this.  Then  he  had  tried 
many  things,  —  for  none  of  which  he  had  much  fitness,  hoping 
always  that  he  might  obtain  a  position  with  some  publishing 
firm  where  his  perfect  command  of  English  would  make  his 
other  tongues  more  available.  Such  place  had  been  promised 
and  then  failed,  and  he  had  done  odd  jobs  on  the  docks, 
shoveled  coal,  answered  countless  advertisements,  and  nursed 
the  invalid  wife  whose  courage  still  remained  in  spite  of  ever 
thicker  and  thicker  disaster.  She  had  grown  worse  day  by 
day,  and  the  child  with  her,  so  that  he  was  forced  at  last  to 
remain  with  them.  Every  article  of  furniture  and  clothing 
had  been  pawned.  Both  had  a  morbid  terror  of  making  their 
condition  known,  and  so  it  had  gone  on  till  the  struggle  was 
nearly  over  for  all  of  them. 

"I  studied  your  face  many  a  time,"  the  poor  man  said  one 
day  with  grateful  eyes  on  the  doctor's  face,  "but  I  could  not 
speak.     It  is  too  late  now." 

"On  the  contrary,  it  is  never  too  late,"  the  doctor  made 
brisk  reply.  "  You  must  eat  and  get  strong,  and  then  we  will 
see  about  work.  I  know  of  some  for  you,  so  hurry  and  get 
well." 

The  sad  eyes  brightened ;  "  Work  is  all  I  want,"  he  slowly 
said,  and  then  was  silent. 

A  week  later  the  child  died,  a  merciful  release  for  the 
twisted  little  body  which  had  never  known  anything  but  pain, 
and  in  another  week  the  mother  had  followed  her.  When  the 
undertaker  came  to  measure  for  the  second  coffin,  the  father 
sprang  at  him  with  a  cry  like  some  wild  animal  robbed  of  its 
young, .and  would  have  murdered  him  but  for  the  doctor  and 


334  A  PATHETIC   SCENE. 

nurse,  who  threw  themselves  upon  him.  Together  they  bound 
his  hands  with  a  strip  of  the  sheet,  till  a  straight  jacket  was 
brought  and  he  was  carried  a  raving  maniac  to  Bloomingdale. 
There  he  is  still,  quiet  and  gentle,  but  hopelessly  insane, 
never  complaining,  but  certain  that  his  wife  and  child  will  soon 
come  for  him,  and  sitting  all  day  within  sight  of  the  door  at 
the  end  of  the  ward.  When  night  comes  he  goes  to  his  rest 
silently,  but  with  returning  daylight  he  resumes  his  ceaseless 
vigil,  always  watching  at  the  door ;  and  so  his  days  pass  and 
will  continue  to  pass  till  the  door  above  opens,  and  he  enters 
the  country  where  — 

"  Things  that  have  grown  uneven  are  made  even  again  by  His  hand." 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

LIFE   BEHIND  THE    BARS—  A  VISIT   TO   THE   TOMBS— SCENES 

WITHIN    PRISON    WALLS  — RAYS    OF    LIGHT    ON    A    DARK 
PICTURE. 

The  Tombs  —  A  Gloomy  Prison  —  The  Bridge  of  Sighs  —  Murderers'  Row  — 
The  Procession  to  the  Gallows —"  Flop  Flop,  Flop  Flop "  —  "Many 
Would  Give  a  V  to  see  it " — Bummers'  Hall  —  Aristocratic  Prisoners  — 
Prison  Routine  —  Remarkable  Escapes  of  Prisoners  —  The  Dreary  Station- 
House  Cell  —  A  Bitter  Cry  —  The  Value  of  "Inflooence" — Shyster  Law- 
yers—  Poverty-Stricken  Men,  Women,  and  Children  —  A  Wife's  Pitiful 
Plea  —  Tales  of  Destitution  and  Misery  —  Sad  Cases  —  A  Noble  Woman 
—  An  Unheeded  Warning  —  Bribery,  Corruption,  and  Extortion  —  A  Day 
in  the  Police  Courts  —  How  Justice  is  Administered  —  A  Judge's  Strange 
and  Thrilling  Story — A  Brave  Woman  and  a  Penitent  Husband — "Give 
me  my  Pound  of  Flesh  " —  The  Tables  Turned. 

THERE  are  still  living  a  few  old  New  Yorkers  who,  as 
children,  played  about  the  Collect  Pond.  This  was  a 
pretty  sheet  of  water  about  which  young  people  wandered  in 
summer  evenings,  though  it  was  a  long  walk  from  the  most 
thickly  built-up  portion  of  the  city,  then  below  Fulton  Street. 
From  the  pond  to  the  North  Kiver  was  swamp-land,  through 
which  ran  a  little  rivulet  on  a  line  with  the  present  Canal 
Street.  For  years  this  pond  supplied  much  of  the  drinking- 
water  for  the  city,  but  as  it  served  also  as  sewer  and  dumping- 
ground  it  became  plain  to  the  City  Fathers  of  that  day  that 
something  must  be  done  about  it.  There  was  strenuous  oppo- 
sition. There  always  is  opposition  to  the  most  self-evident 
need  for  reform,  but  the  Fathers  had  their  way  and  the  filling- 
up  of  the  pond  began.  It  was  a  slow  process  and  required 
not  only  countless  loads  of  soil,  but  anything  and  everything 
that  could  find  place  on  the  dumping-ground,  from  old  shoes 
to  ashes  and  sweepings,  over  which  the  rag-pickers  of  the  day 
kept  careful   oversight.      Work  as  they  would,   it  remained 

(888) 


336 


A  FAMOUS  BUT   GLOOMY   PRISON. 


practically  a  marsh  about  which  malaria  under  another  name 
lingered  persistently,  and  which  the  doctors  insisted  was  the 
cause  of  most  of  the  ailments  current. 

The  filling  began  in  1817  and  went  on  with  intermissions 
until  1837,  when  it  was  chosen  as  a  site  for  the  new  city 
prison,  the  old  one  farther  down  having  proved  entirely  inade- 
quate. Why  the  spot  was  chosen,  unless  to  get  rid  of  the 
prisoners  as  quickly  as  possible,  no  one  knew.  The  plans  for 
the  new  prison  meant  not  only  an  enormous  expenditure  of 
money,  but  one   of  the  stateliest  of  buildings,   probably  the 


THE   TOMBS. 


purest  specimen  of  Egyptian  architecture  outside  of  Egypt, 
and  magnificent  in  proportions.  Yet  this  building,  occupying 
an  entire  block,  is  dwarfed  and  made  insignificant  by  being 
sunk  in  a  hollow  so  low  that  the  top  of  the  massive  walls 
scarcely  rises  above  the  level  of  Broadway,  hardly  more  than 
a  hundred  yards  distant. 

Constant  anxiety  attended  the  building.  The  soil  was  so 
marshy  that  the  walls  settled,  and  though  the  foundations  were 
much  deeper  than  ordinarily  laid,  it  was  regarded  as  very 
doubtful  if  they  would  ever  support  the  weight  of  the  mass 
erected  upon  them. 

By  181:0  the  work  was  complete,  and  save  for  the  darkening 


AT  THE   PRISON   GATE.  337 

of  the  stone  by  time  no  change  lias  taken  place.  It  is  of  solid 
granite,  two  hundred  and  fifty-three  feet  long  by  two  hundred 

deep,  and  appears  as  one  lofty  story,  the  windows  being  carried 
from  a  point  about  six  feet  above  the  ground  up  to  beneath  the 
cornice.  The  main  entrance  on  Centre  Street  is  reached  by  a 
flight  of  dark  stone  steps  which  lead  to  a  portico  massive  and 
gloomy,  supported  by  four  enormous  Egyptian  columns ;  the 
other  three  sides  are  broken  by  projecting  entrances  and  col- 
umns. Its  name  of  the  " Tombs"  was  the  natural  outcome 
of  the  feeling  of  all  who  looked  upon  it.  Year  after  year  suc- 
cessive Grand  Juries  condemned  the  building  as  totally  unfit 
for  its  purposes,  and  even  to-day  an  occasional  remonstrance  is 
heard.  It  was  built  to  accommodate  about  two  hundred  pris- 
oners, but  double  that  number  are  now  confined  in  it. 

Armed  with  the  permit  without  which  there  is  no  admission 
for  the  curious,  one  is  passed  through  the  heavy  gate  at  the 
north,  at  which  an  old  warder  keeps  guard.  From  half -past 
ten  in  the  morning  to  half-past  one  in  the  afternoon  are  the 
hours  for  visitors,  and  a  motle}T  crowd  assembles  as  the  hour 
approaches,  most  of  them  bearing  brown-paper  bags  and  bun- 
dles designed  for  the  consolation  of  the  prisoners.  These  are 
examined  to  see  that  they  contain  no  hidden  files  or  anything 
forbidden,  and  are  delivered  later.  Each  man,  as  he  passes  in, 
is  examined  at  the  inner  gate  and  each  woman  by  a  woman 
who  sits  just  inside  a  little  room.  One  is  tempted  to  pause 
here  and  watch  the  row;  now  and  then  comes  a  weeping- 
mother  all  unused  to  such  company,  or  a  wife  who  will  not  be- 
lieve the  punishment  of  her  loved  one  deserved. 

Once  within,  the  visitor  finds  himself  in  a  large  courtyard, 
and  facing  a  second  prison  built  in  the  center,  one  hundred  and 
forty-two  feet  long  by  forty-five  feet  deep,  and  containing  one 
hundred  and  fifty  cells.  This  is  the  male  prison,  quite  separate 
from  that  for  females,  and  connected  with  the  outer  building 
by  a  bridge  which  long  ago  received  the  name  of  the  "  Bridge 
of  Sighs."  Over  it  walked  all  condemned  prisoners  on  their 
way  to  their  death,  the  gallows  meeting  their  eyes  as  they 
passed  out  into  daylight. 


338 


ON   THE   WAY   TO   THE   GALLOWS. 


In  capital  cases  the  putting  up  of  the  gallows  was  delayed  to 
the  last,  and  the  muffled  sound  of  the  hammers  reached  the  mur- 
derer in  his  cell  and  stirred  a  ripple  of  excitement  among  the 
other  prisoners.  Such  windows  as  look  out  upon  the  courtyard 
were  obstructed  by  great  sheets  hung  before  them,  and  the  scaf- 
fold was  immediately  taken  down  when  all  was  over. 

"  Over    that    bridge    they    come,"    said    the    old    warder 

to    me,    on 

the    occasion 

of  a  recent 

mk    visit,  nodding 

his    head    as 

lie      pointed. 

Bi|     "Fifty  year, 

;  .  :      nearly,     I've 

seen       'em 

come.      That 

row    o'    cells 

behind  you  is 

'Murderers' 

Ijffl     Row,'      an' 

there  used  to 

be     an     iron 

cage  where  they  put  'em  ten  days  before  the  sentence  was  to 
be  executed.  There  they  put  every  man  as  was  to  be  hanged, 
an'  they  gave  him  a  bran'  new  suit  o'  clothes  an'  all  to  eat  he 
wanted,  but  they  stopped  that  a  good  while  ago.  Then  they 
kep'  him  in  a  cell  an'  watched  him  day  an'  night  to  keep  him 
from  suicidin',  maybe,  an'  when  the  time  come  they  tied  his 
hands  an'  they  tied  his  feet,  an'  they  put  the  black  cap  on  his 
head,  an'  the  rope  round  his  neck  with  the  noose  a  hangin' 
down  behind,  an'  he  come  along,  an'  it  went  flop  flop,  flop  flop, 
as  he  come,  an'  then  — " 

"  That  will  do,"  I  exclaimed.  "  I  do  not  want  to  hear  any 
more." 

The  old  man's  eyes  opened  with  surprise.  "  Why,  there's 
many  a  one  would  give  a  V  any  day — yes,  an'  more  too  —  to 


THE  GALLOWS  YARD  IN  THE  TOMBS. 


tNSIDE  THE   PRISON.  339 

get  in  an'  see  it;  but  they  ain't  allowed.  You  wouldn't,  may 
be,  but  most  would,  an'  it's  a  sight  to  sec" 

One  leaves  the  yard  gladly,  passing  into  the  male  prison, 
which  contains  a  lofty  but  narrow  hall  with  four  tiers  of  cells 
opening  upon  the  floor  and  three  iron  galleries,  one  above  the 
other.  The  cells  opening  from  them  are  intended  for  two 
prisoners,  but  often  hold  three,  and  all  are  watched  by  two 
keepers  for  each  gallery.  Each  tier  has  its  special  use,  the 
ground-floor  cells  generally  containing  the  convicts  under  sen- 
tence. On  the  second  floor  are  the  prisoners  charged  with 
grave  offenses,  —  murder,  arson,  etc.  Prisoners  arrested  for 
burglary,  grand  larceny,  and  the  like  are  on  the  third  tier,  and 
light  offenders  have  the  top  floor  to  themselves. 

The  boys'  prison  is  on  the  Centre  Street  side,  and  on  Leon- 
ard Street  is  the  women's  prison,  where  fifty  cells  prove  insuf- 
ficient for  the  demand  made  upon  them.  The  large  hall  on  the 
Franklin  Street  side  —  once  used  as  a  station-house  for  the 
police  of  the  district  —  is  now  known  as  "  Bummers'  Hall,"  and 
in  it  are  confined  the  tramps,  vagrants,  and  persons  arrested  for 
drunkenness  in  the  streets.  They  are  kept  there  until  the 
morning  after  their  arrest,  when  they  are  brought  up  for  trial. 

The  Centre  Street  side  contains  also  the  offices  and  residence 
of  the  Warden,  the  Police  Court,  and  the  Court  of  Special  Ses- 
sions. Directly  over  this  entrance  are  six  large  cells  for  the 
use  of  those  who  can  afford  to  pay  for  them,  and  forgers,  de- 
faulters, and  prisoners  from  the  higher  walks  of  life  wait  here 
till  their  cases  are  determined.  All  Avho  enter,  from  whatever 
rank,  are  under  the  charge  of  the  Warden,  two  Deputy  War- 
dens, a  Matron,  and  a  sufficient  force  of  keepers  to  watch  and 
guard  the  prisoners.  As  at  the  Workhouse,  most  of  the  work 
is  done  by  prisoners,  thirty  boys  being  constantly  employed. 
The  place  is  spotlessly  clean,  all  scrubbing  being  done  by  the 
boys,  while  others  are  busy  in  the  kitchen,  from  which  abun- 
dant rations  are  sent  out.  Changes  of  clothing  are  supplied 
by  their  families,  or,  if  too  poor  for  this,  the  city  furnishes 
them.  Each  one  must  walk  for  an  hour  a  day  in  the  corridor 
outside  his  cell.     In  short,  the  routine  is  that  of  the  ordinary 


340 


A  MODEL  MATRON. 


prison  anywhere  in  the  country,  and  in  spite  of  the  unhealthy 
location  of  the  Tombs  its  sanitary  arrangements  are  so  good 
that  no  case  of  disease  has  ever  originated  in  it. 

For  over  thirty  years  one  woman  —  Mrs.  Flora  Foster  — 
was  Matron  for  the  women's  and  boys'  prisons,  and  took  gen- 


"'VS 


PHISON   CELLS  FOR  FEMALES  LN  THE   TOMBS. 

eral  charge  of  the  multitude  of  babies  brought  in  with  drunken 
or  criminal  mothers.  Long  habit  had  made  her  an  almost  un- 
failing judge  of  possibilities  for  her  charges,  and  many  a  boy 
owes  his  first  chance  in  life  to  her  efforts  and  encouragement. 
The  most  violent  were  made  calmer  at  her  approach,  and  she 
had  unbounded  influence  over  the  women  who  came  under  her 


A  PITIABLE    ARRAY    OF    LAW-BREAKERS.  341 

care.      These   were  many,  for   fifty   thousand    prisoners    ; 
through  the  Tombs  in  the  course  of  a  year. 

In  spite  of  constant  vigilance  and  the  immense  strength  of 

the  building,  escapes  have  sometimes  taken  place;  the  most 
noted  of  these  being  that  of  the  murderer  Sharkey,  who  es- 
caped in  women's  clothes  provided  by  his  wife,  who  also  gave 

him  her  visitor's  ticket,  that  he  might  pass  the  guards.  Since 
this  feat  no  prisoner  has  ever  succeeded  in  evading  them,  and 
the  number  of  escapes  altogether  is  hardly  a  dozen. 

An  hour  in  the  Tombs  Police  Court  is  full  of  strange  expe- 
rience. Here  may  be  found  any  morning  during  the  year 
a  pitiable  array  of  poverty-stricken  men,  women,  and  children 
in  what  are  called  the  "  prison  pens."  Arrested  for  minor  or 
greater  offenses,  all  are  promiscuously  mingled,  and  no  physi- 
ognomist could  detect,  after  a  night's  lodging  in  the  dreary  cell 
of  a  station-house,  the  slightest  difference  between  the  innocent 
and  guilty.  One  by  one  they  are  arraigned  before  the  magis- 
trate, who  calmly  listens  to  the  tale  of  the  policeman — the 
only  witness,  perhaps  —  and  excuses  or  condemns,  as  the  case 
may  be.  with  apparently  the  utmost  nonchalance.  Poverty  is 
here  a  great  factor  in  the  determination  of  a  case,  for  the  very 
poor  have  no  friends. —  not  even  the  saloon-keeper  or  the  politi- 
cian: and  "inflooence"  on  their  behalf  is  an  unknown  quantity, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  there  is  no  probability  of  value 
ever  being  received  for  it. 

The  Justice  who  sits  here  knows  his  offenders  so  thoronghlv 
that  he  is  a  terror  to  every  old  sinner  who  comes  before 
him,  each  one  of  whom  knows  that  the  transgressions  of 
his  past  are  recorded  in  that  unfailing  memory  and  are  likely  to 
be  laid  before  him.  Nine  o'clock  is  the  time  fixed  for  opening 
court,  but  it  is  tolerably  certain  one  will  have  to  wait  half 
an  hour  or  so ;  nor  is  the  time  lost,  for  under  the  watchful  eyes 
of  half  a  dozen  policemen  the  hall  with  its  rows  of  wooden 
seats  fills  up  with  friends  of  the  arrested  prisoners,  who  often 
are  to  be  the  witnesses  for  or  against.  "  Shyster"  lawyers,  of 
a  class  peculiar  to  the  Tombs,  ready  to  defend  a  prisoner 
for  anything  they  can  get, — from  fifty  cents  to  as  many  dollars 


342  SCENES  IN  THE   COURT  ROOM. 

—  wander  up  and  down  the  room,  eyeing  the  people,  and 
scenting  out  those  who  may  be  persuaded  into  accepting  their 
services.  Here  are  women  with  black  eyes, —  in  fact  the 
woman  without  a  black  eye  is  in  the  minority ;  tramps  from  the 
contingent  in  City  Hall  Park ;  small  boys  who  steal  in  under 
pretence  of  belonging  to  the  prisoner,  and  who  watch  the  pro- 
ceedings with  delight ;  Chinese ;  and  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men.  The  Justice  enters  swiftly  and  silently,  and  is  in  his 
place  before  any  one  has  noticed  him.  The  doors  of  the 
"  Bummers'  Hall "  open,  and,  straggling  one  by  one,  come  the 
row  of  offenders ;  chiefly  "  drunk  and  disorderly "  cases  in 
which  assault  and  battery  play  a  large  part.  Near  us  sits 
a  respectable  looking  woman  certainly  sixty  years  old,  who 
tells  her  story  to  all  near  her.  In  fact,  this  is  one  of  the 
peculiarities  of  the  place.  Each  one  in  turn,  and  sometimes 
half  a  dozen  together,  recite  their  autobiography,  and  in  some 
cases  take  pride  in  the  number  of  times  they  have  had  occasion 
to  appear  here. 

ISTot  so  with  yonder  woman  who  wraps  her  shawl  close 
about  her  and  looks  around  distrustfully,  as  well  she  may,  for 
at  her  back,  and  moving  by  slow  degrees  toward  her,  is  the 
husband  against  whom,  after  forty  years  of  endurance,  she  has 
at  last  decided  to  enter  complaint.  He  has  slept  in  the  gutter, 
it  is  plain,  and  even  now  he  believes  that  if  he  can  argue  with 
her  a  little  the  complaint  will  be  dismissed.  As  he  edges 
toward  her  the  policeman  appears,  listens  for  a  moment,  and 
then  hustles  him  off,  while  the  old  lady  says,  with  many  sniffs 
and  sobs  : 

"  It  do  seem  a  bit  hard,  but  he's  drunk  up  all  the  bits 
of  things  over  and  over,  and  I've  no  strength  to  keep  on 
earnin'  money  for  him  to  throw  into  the  gutter.  He's  the  best 
of  men  when  he's  sober  and  never  laid  his  hand  on  me,  but  he 
isn't  ever  sober  hardly  and  so  it  do  come  hard." 

Inside  the  rail  a  dozen  women  look  appealingly  toward 
the  Justice  or  defiantly  toward  the  audience.  Case  after  case 
is  called  with  a  promptness  amazing  to  the  beholder,  and 
dismissed  with  equal  celerity.     Here  a  child  so  small  that 


SWIFT   JUSTH  i:    AND   SAD   CASES.  'Wo 

he  has  to  be  lifted  up  for  a  moment  of  observation  by  the 
Judge  ;  there  old  hag-s,  some  of  them  life-long  offend* 

To-day  there  were  three  who  could  easily  have  sat  for  the 

witches  in  "Macbeth.''  Two  were  lame;  one  had  only  a 
single  eve,  and  all  had  been  in  the  gutter  and  bestowed 
scratches  and  bites  freely  on  each  other  and  on  the  policeman 
who  brought  them  in. 

"Share  'tis  the  hate  I  was  drunk  wid.  Judge  yer  Honor," 
said  the  one-eyed  woman.  "Do  you  think  now,  Judge  yer 
Honor,  I'd  be  drinkin'  after  all  the  warnins  I've  had  from  ye." 

"  Three  months  on  the  Island,"  was  the  only  answer  she  re- 
ceived, and  she  was  led  out,  shaking  her  matted  locks  and 
swearing  vengeance  when  out  again. 

Five  Italians  came  up  in  a  group,  one  minus  the  end  of  his 
nose.  He  declined,  however,  to  press  the  charge,  saying  it  was 
purely  a  friendly  affair,  and  a  woman  near  by  confirmed  his 
statement. 

"  Go  into  Baxter  Street  if  you  want  to  know  the  truth."  she 
said.  "  They're  always  a  chawin'  of  each  other's  noses,  and 
none  of  'em  minds  it  more'n  some  minds  a  black  eye." 

There  were  sadder  cases  than  these.  Young  girls,  homeless 
and  betrayed;  children  whose  only  home  had  been  the  streets; 
sailors,  still  sodden  with  drink,  beaten  and  robbed  with  no 
knowledge  of  by  whom ;  and  for  each  and  all  swift  justice  did 
its  work.  First  offenses  are  dealt  with  leniently,  but  there  is 
no  time  for  investigation  of  special  ones. 

No  philanthropist  goes  down  to  the  Tombs  for  the  purpose 
of  hearing  the  tales  of  destitution  and  misery  daily  rehearsed 
there ;  no  society  takes  sufficient  interest  in  humanity  to  insti- 
tute an  inquiry  into  and  prevent  this  daily  cloud  over  the 
brightness  of  civilization ;  no  church,  by  its  authorized  officers, 
visits  the  filthy  dens  and  rookeries  of  the  Sixth  and  Tenth 
AVards,  or  the  courts  and  prisons  where  the  victims  of  necessity 
are  condemned  and  punished,  and  attempts  a  reformation  of  the 
evils  found  there. 

For  six  years  one  woman  who  has  persistently  shrunk  from 
notice  has  done  here  a  work  never  before  undertaken  there  by 


344 


THE   PRISONERS'   FRIEND. 


man  or  woman.  In  these  six  years  she  has  given  bail  for 
hundreds  of  cases,  the  sum  now  amounting  to  over  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars.  Moved  to  it  in  the  beginning  by  a  knowledge  of 
the  utter  friendlessness  of  many  who  were  wrongfully  charged 


MURDERERS    ROW   LX   THE   TOMES.       CELLS   FOR   CONDEMNED   PRISONERS. 

or  had  been  tempted  and  fallen  for  the  first  time,  she  appeared 
in  her  first  case  in  behalf  of  a  lad  of  nineteen  who  had  sought 
unavailingly  for  work  and  in  despair  at  last  attempted  suicide. 
Bail  was  given,  work  found,  and  the  gratitude  of  the  lad,  now 
a  successful  business  man,  was  so  stimulating  that  Mrs.  Schaff- 
ner,  in  spite  of  her  retiring  temperament,  kept  on. 

To-day  she  is  allowed  free  access  to  prisoners,  and  her  almost 
unerring  instinct  added  to  experience  makes  it  impossible  for 


HOW   PRISONERS   ARE  SWINDLED.  345 

them  to  deceive  her.     Each  day  she  visits  the  Tombs,  and  once 
a  month  gives  a  day  to  Sing  Sing. 

"  Why  will  not  more  do  so  I "  she  said  in  her  pretty  ( rerman- 

English,  her  soft  voiee  and  gentle  eyes  hardly  indicating  the 
strength  of  character  and  endurance  she  has  shown.  "  D<>  you 
know  it  is  elegant  work,  yes,  elegant  work.  Each  day  you 
some  fruit.  Because  of  that  there  is  nothing  like  it.  I  wonder 
often  why  rich  people  who  say  there  is  nothing  to  do,  do  not 
do  this  and  have  much  pleasure.  I  care  not  for  institutions. 
I  like  better  to  see  my  individual  in  the  face  and  do  what  I  can 
when  I  have  listened  and  made  up  my  mind.  It  is  all  kinds  I 
help;  yes,  all  kinds;  black,  white,  Chinese,  all  nations,  and 
never  hut  once  did  any  deceive  me,  and  he  was  my  own  country- 
man !  Was  not  that  a  shame  I  But  I  go  on,  and  the  District 
Attorney  who  said  first,  'Madam,  you  are  crazy.'  say  now, 
•  Madam,  I  thank  you  for  much  help,  and  may  the  Lord  send 
more  like  you.'  That  is  different,  you  see,  but  he  has  reason, 
for  always  I  know  if  the  prisoner  be  innocent  or  be  guilty. 
And  oh,  such  tales  I  hear  !  It  would  break  hearts  to  hear  such 
tales  if  there  were  no  help,  but  always  there  can  be  a  little." 

This  and  the  work  of  the  old  Matron  rank  side  by  side  in 
wisdom  and  discrimination,  and  save  for  this  there  is  no  other 
bright  spot  for  the  Tombs,  whose  gray  walls  are  a  menace  to 
the4  criminal,  yet  most  often  an  unheeded  one  till  the  clutch 
of  the  law  is  felt  and  the  Judge  pronounces  sentence. 

Ludlow  Street  jail  is  quite  as  widely  known,  and.  as  the 
county  prison  for  Xew  York,  has  sheltered  many  notable 
prisoners.  Every  one  arrested  under  process  issued  by  the 
Sheriff  of  the  County  of  Xew  York  is  brought  here,  the  ma- 
jority being  arrested  for  debt.  Prisoners  from  the  United 
States  courts  are  also  sent  here,  and  all  alike  suffer  extortions 
of  every  kind.  In  spite  of  spasmodic  attempts  to  better  the 
condition  of  things,  bribery  and  corruption  seem  inseparably 
associated  with  this  prison.  Xo  favors  are  granted  unless  paid 
for  liberally,  and  even  where  lawful  charges  are  known  it 
makes  no  difference. 

In  the  case  of  a  debtor  who  wishes  to  give  bail,  he  is  taken 


346  SHAMELESS  CORRUPTION. 

by  the '  deputy  sheriff  to  the  sheriff's  office,  from  whence  he 
sends  for  any  friend  likely  to  become  a  surety.  The  law  al- 
lows him  a  reasonable  time  to  find  bail,  but  to  leave  the  office 
he  must  fee  a  deputy  enormously,  the  amount  demanded  being 
in  proportion  to  the  prisoner's  probable  means.  So  it  goes 
on  through  every  item  of  the  process,  from  signing  the  bond  to 
the  fee  of  the  notary.  Periodical  exposure  of  these  and  other 
kindred  practices  have  had  thus  far  small  effect  on  the  system, 
and  the  prison  has  the  unenviable  notoriety  of  being  the  center 
of  shameless  corruption  of  every  order. 

Smaller  courts  are  held  at  many  points,  and  the  stranger 
often  wanders  into  Essex  Market  court  or  that  at  Jefferson 
Market,  watching  the  miserable  creatures,  the  supply  of  which 
is  perennial,  and  who  are  gathered  up  nightly  at  all  the  points 
where  vice  congregates,  whether  east  or  west.  The  cells  at 
these  stations  are  filled  with  men,  women,  and  boys,  the  latter 
taking  every  lesson  in  crime  from  their  elders. 

For  all  the  courts  the  story  is  much  the  same.  One  alone 
owns  an  alleviation,  hardly  possible  for  the  rest,  and  certainly 
unique  of  its  kind.  At  the  Prince  Street  Station  is  a  beautiful 
water-spaniel,  the  property  of  one  of  the  men,  which  enters 
into  the  life  with  the  greatest  spirit.  A  young  Italian  boot- 
black has  taught  him  many  tricks,  and  he  obeys  with  the 
docility  of  a  well-trained  child.  He  abhors  solitude,  and  if 
left  alone  with  the  door  closed  upon  him  he  rises  on  his  hind 
feet  and  diligently  paws  the  knob  of  the  door  to  the  room 
where  the  reserve  force  sit,  till  it  turns,  when  he  marches  in, 
wagging  his  tail  triumphantly. 

A  recent  exploit  made  him  a  member  of  the  force  and 
added  the  policeman's  shield  to  his  collar.  Leo  does  not  make 
friends  readily,  and  follows  no  one  in  the  street  but  the  ser- 
geant and  one  of  the  policemen.  On  one  of  the  policemen's 
rounds,  about  nine  o'clock  one  evening,  he  heard  the  loud  cry 
of  "  Stop  thief !"  and  saw  a  burly  negro  spring  from  some 
steps  and  run  along  the  street.  The  policeman  started  after 
him,  but  Leo  was  far  in  advance  and  soon  buried  his  sharp 
teeth  in  the  leg  of  the  thief. 


A  PAINSTAKING   JUDGE.  347 

"OLawd!  take  off  de  dog!  take  off  de  dog  I  I  gib  up!" 
groaned  the  negro,  dropping  his  plunder  and  dancing  with 
pain.  The  policeman  released  him,  though  with  some  diffi- 
culty, and  Leo  walked  by  Ids  side  to  the  station  and  stood 
looking  on  gravely  till  the  prisoner  had  been  committed  to  his 
cell. 

"  He's  got  so  as  he  smells  out  a  thief  soon  as  he  sees  him," 
said  a  shrewd-looking  old  man,  who  stood  by  the  other  day 
as  the  dog  went  through  his  tricks.  "It  wouldn't  never  do  to 
turn  him  loose  in  society  agin,  for  in  a  city  like  isew  York 
he'd  make  damaging  exposures.     See  ?  " 

"  I  wish,  then,  there  was  ten  thousand  like  him,''  said  his 
companion  explosively.  "There  ain't  a  spot  in  the  city  but 
what  needs  detectives,  and  I'm  sick  to  my  marrow  of  all  the 
horrors  I've  seen.  Why  don't  the  Lord  descend  on  it  and 
make  an  end  I  " 

"  Because  when  all's  said  and  done  there's  a  heap  of  good 
in  it,  and  that's  the  summin'  up  for  most  things,"  said  the  old 
man,  and  went  his  way. 

More  criminals  pass  each  year  before  Kecorder  Smyth 
than  any  other  Judge  in  the  world.  He  is  a  hardworking, 
painstaking,  and  withal  tender-hearted  Judge.  The  visitor  to 
his  court-room  on  a  busy  day  is  astonished  at  the  rapidity  with 
which  he  despatches  business,  and  one  who  knows  nothing 
about  his  methods  is  led  to  believe  that  his  only  object  is  to 
get  through  with  his  work,  no  matter  what  becomes  of  the 
prisoners. 

"It  is  the  greatest  mistake  one  could  make,"  said  the 
Kecorder.  "  I  have  to  hurry  my  work,  for  my  court  is  over- 
crowded, but  never  in  all  my  experience  on  the  bench  have  I 
been  so  hurried  that  I  could  not  give  all  the  time  and  atten- 
tion that  Avas  necessary  to  prisoners.  AYhen  a  man  or  woman 
comes  up  before  me  whom  I  have  never  seen  before,  whose 
looks  or  manners  give  indication  that  they  are  not  really 
criminals  at  heart,  I  suspend  judgment  in  their  case  until  the 
matter  is  thoroughly  investigated. 

"  Of  the  scores  of  cases  of  men  who  have  come  before  me 


348  RECORDER  SMYTH'S  STRANGE   STORY. 

and  pleaded  guilty,  not  knowing  really  what  they  were  doing, 
but  anxious  to  get  out  of  further  trouble  by  taking  a  sentence 
and  hiding  themselves,  away  in  prison,  I  recall  one  that  I  shall 
remember  as  long  as  I  live.  I  could  not  forget  it  if  I  would, 
for  the  man  in  the  case  writes  to  me  regularly,  comes  to  see 
me  when  convenient,  and  never  ceases  to  thank  me  for  my 
good  offices  in  his  behalf.  I  was  sitting  on  the  bench  one 
morning,  and  had  disposed  of  a  number  of  ordinary  cases, 
when  the  court  officer  presented  to  me  a  respectable-looking 
man  of  about  fifty,  charged  with  burglary.  I  looked  at  him 
very  closely,  and  he  seemed  to  be  a  little  above  the  ordinary 
grade  of  prisoner.  There  was  something  about  his  face  that 
irresistibly  drew  me  to  him.  He  looked  me  steadily  in  the 
eye  without  brazen  effrontery  and  seemed  only  too  anxious  to 
have  sentence  passed  upon  him  and  get  into  prison. 

" '  You  are  charged  with  burglary,  my  good  man,'  I  said 
to  him.     '  What  have  you  to  say  ? '  " 

"  He  looked  up  at  me  in  an  innocent  way,  and  with  tears 
streaming  down  his  face  said  huskily :  '  Nothing.  I  am 
guilty.' 

"  '  Do  you  know  the  meaning  of  that  word  guilty  % "  I  asked 
him. 

" '  Yes,'  he  replied,  '  fully.  I  broke  into  my  employer's 
store,  I  stole  his  jewelry,  I  pawned  it,  and  that  is  all  there  is 
of  it.  Pass  sentence  upon  me  if  you  will.  Send  me  to  prison, 
and  let  not  my  shame  be  visited  upon  my  wife  and  daughter.' 

"  '  Have  you  any  counsel  ? '  I  asked  him. 

"  <  No,'  was  the  reply.  '  I  have  no  counsel,  and  need  none. 
I  am  guilty.     Sentence  me  now.' 

"  The  whole  thing  was  so  unusual  that  I  determined  to  re- 
mand him.  '  You  may  go  back  to  prison,'  I  said  to  him,  '  and 
remain  there  for  a  week.  Meantime  think  over  what  you  have 
done.  You  are  not  called  upon  to  say  you  are  guilty,  and  if 
you  do  say  so  you  know  that  there  is  no  alternative  but  State 
prison.  Burglary  is  a  heinous  offense.  Better  go  back.  Think 
it  all  over.  Change  your  plea.  Send  for  your  friends,  and  see 
if  something  cannot  be  done  for  you.' 


PARENTAL   LOVE   THAT    RESULTED    IX   CRIME.  3-49 

"When  court  was  over  I  called  in  one  of  my  detectives, 

told  him  to  go  to  the  head  of  the  firm  where  this  man  worked, 
and  whose  store  he  had  broken  into,  and  tell  him  that  I  wished 
to  see  him.  Then  I  sent  for  the  poor  man's  wife,  and  little  by 
little  the  story  came  out.  The  poor  woman  between  her  sobs 
and  tears  told  it  all.  Her  husband  was  a  loving,  hard-working, 
industrious  man.  He  had  only  one  object  in  life,  his  love  for 
his  daughter.  She  had  a  consuming  ambition  to  become  a 
great  musician.  He  had  spent  all  the  money  he  had  made  on 
her  musical  education,  and  had  really  kept  himself  not  only 
poor  but  in  debt  by  so  doing.  It  seemed  that  she  had  almost 
gained  her  object  and  become  not  only  a  good  singer,  but  a 
fine  pianist,  when  she  went  to  her  father  and  said  that  it  would 
be  necessary  for  her  to  take  another  course  of  instruction  with 
a  distinguished  teacher.  The  poor  man  had  not  a  dollar  in  the 
world.  He  was  only  a  workingman  on  small  wages,  and  the 
money  required  for  this  instruction  was  something  that  he  could 
not  hope  to  get  in  the  natural  course  of  events.  He  brooded 
over  it  for  a  few  days,  talked  with  his  wife  about  it,  and  finally, 
after  many  ineffectual  efforts  to  raise  the  money  in  other  direc- 
tions, he  came  home  one  Saturday  night  with  the  desired  sum 
in  his  hands. 

"  He  was  as  happy  as  a  schoolboy.  His  face  was  all  aglow, 
and  his  eyes  danced  with  joy.  He  kissed  his  daughter,  gave  her 
the  money,  and  told  her  to  go  on.  Success  was  now  assured. 
The  young  woman  never  for  a  moment  asked  where  the  money 
came  from ;  but  after  the  frugal  supper  was  over  the  good  wife 
took  her  husband  aside  and  asked  him  where  he  got  the  money. 
He  evaded  her  for  a  long  time,  and  finally,  suspecting  that  he 
had  not  come  by  it  honestly,  she  charged  him  directly  with 
obtaining  it  by  false  means  or  foul.  Hour  after  hour  she 
pleaded  with  her  husband  to  tell  her  the  truth.  He  steadfastly 
refused.  At  last,  at  midnight,  he  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and 
in  an  agony  of  despair  he  broke  down  and  told  her  that  he  had 
broken  into  the  establishment  where  he  worked,  taken  some 
valuable  jewelry,  and  pawned  it. 

"The  poor  wife  was  half  crazed.     But  she  was  a  brave 


350  A  SENSIBLE  JUDGE. 

woman  and  she  told  him  between  her  sobs  that  although  she 
valued  her  daughter's  education  and  happiness  in  life,  she 
could  not  be  his  partner  in  crime.  She  prevailed  upon  him 
to  accompany  her,  and  that  night  those  two  unhappy  people 
walked  the  streets  until  they  reached  the  home  of  the  senior 
member  of  the  firm  whose  store  the  man  had  robbed. 

"The  woman  nervously  rang  the  bell,  and  they  waited 
until  at  last  the  door  was  opened.  Once  inside  the  house  she 
bade  her  husband  tell  all,  and  he  explained  with  bent  head 
how  the  theft  had  been  committed  and  told  where  he  had 
pawned  the  stolen  goods.  The  wife  handed  over  the  money 
realized  on  the  property,  asked  the  employer  to  redeem  his 
goods,  and  forgive  her  husband.  You  would  think  that 
any  man  would  have  been  touched  by  the  poor  woman's 
sturdy  honesty  and  bitter  tears  in  that  midnight  hour,  but  this 
employer  was  unmoved.  He  deliberately  called  a  policeman 
and  had  the  man  taken  to  jail.  The  merchant  recovered  his 
goods,  and  the  law  was  about  to  take  its  course  with  the 
criminal  when  I,  sitting  on  the  bench  there,  was  convinced 
that  there  was  a  story  behind  it  all,  and  I  decided  to  inves- 
tigate the  case.  I  shall  never  forget  how  eloquently  that  poor 
woman  pleaded  for  her  husband  that  day  in  my  presence,  and 
how  stubbornly  the  unfeeling  employer  who  sat  opposite  to 
her,  demanded  with  true  Shylock  persistence,  the  last  pound 
of  flesh.  I  suggested  to  the  merchant  that  the  case  was  a 
peculiar  one,  and  it  seemed  to  me  presented  an  opportunity 
for  mercy  as  well  as  justice. 

"  '  You  had  better  decide,'  I  said  to  him,  '  not  to  prosecute 
this  poor  fellow.  He  has  never  before  been  accused  of  any 
crime.  He  has  worked  faithfully  for  you  for  many  years. 
He  is  deserving  of  some  consideration  from  your  hands,  and 
this  woman,  his  wife,  who  was  strong  enough  to  right  a  wrong 
at  any  cost  to  herself  and  family,  is  deserving  of  her  husband's 
presence  and  support  in  her  declining  years.' 

"  The  woman  thanked  me,  and  had  hardly  done  so  when 
the  merchant  arose  and  in  an  angry  tone  said  that  he  was 
determined   to  make  an   example  of  this  man.     He   insisted 


THE   TABLES   TURNED.  351 

that  prisons  were  for  just  such  persons  as  he,  and  that  the 
sooner  lie  was  placed  there  the  better. 

"  I  allowed  him  to  talk  in  this  way  for  perhaps  ten  minutes 
and  I  listened  carefully  to  all  he  said.  "'I  don't  believe,'  I 
replied,  'that  this  man  intended  to  commit  a  crime.  As  a 
judge  I  am  empowered  to  suspend  sentence.  I  shall  call  him 
up  in  court  to-morrow ;  shall  tell  him  I  have  investigated  the 
matter  thoroughly,  and  shall  suspend  sentence  in  his  ease.' 

"  Now,  this  is  the  strangest  part  of  the  story.  The  man 
was  brought  before  me  the  next  morning  and  withdrew  his 
plea  of  'guilty.'  I  suspended  sentence.  Some  good  people 
that  I  knew  obtained  enough  monev  to  enable  his  daughter 
to  finish  her  musical  education,  and  she  is  now  well  known  in 
Xew  York's  best  musical  circles.  I  obtained  a  position  for  her 
father  as  purser  on  one  of  the  outgoing  steamships,  and  he  is 
as  honest  as  the  day  is  long,  and  as  grateful  as  a  man  can  be 
for  the  service  I  rendered  him ;  while  his  employer  has  since 
been  brought  up  in  another  court  in  this  city  for  fraudulent 
practices,  and  narrowly  escaped  State  prison  for  his  crime/' 


CHAPTEE    XVII. 

LURKING  PLACES  OF  SIN  — FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  CRIME  — 
CELLAR  HAUNTS  AND  UNDERGROUND  RESORTS  OF  CRIMI- 
NALS—THE STORY  OF  JIM,  AN  EX-CONVICT. 

The  Slums  of  New  York  —  Cellar  Harbors  for  Criminals  —  Face  to  Face  with 
Crime  —  Old  Michael  Dunn  —  A  Tour  through  Criminal  Haunts  —  Jim 
Tells  the  Story  of  his  Life  —  Sleeping  in  Packing  Boxes,  Boilers,  and 
Water  Pipes  —  My  Visit  to  one  of  his  Hiding  Places  —  A  Thrilling  Experi- 
ence in  a  Damp  and  Mouldy  Cellar  —  Locked  in — A  Mad  Fight  for  Life — 
Floating  on  a  Plank  —  Underground  Resorts  of  Pickpockets  and  Thieves 

—  How  River  Thieves  Operate  —  A  Midnight  Expedition  —  An  Evil  Re- 
gion — Young  Ruffians  and  Sneak  Thieves — Patroling  the  Streets  at  Night 

—  The  Policeman's  Story  —  Open  Vice  of  Every  Form  —  Lurking  Places 
of  Criminals  —  Sneak  Thieves  —  Dangerous  Localities  —  ' '  Hell's  Kitchen  " 
Hope  for  the  Future. 

NOT  the  least  surprising  experience  of  one  who  has  learned 
to  know  the  slums  in  every  aspect  is  the  flat  denial  of 
most  New  Yorkers  that  they  exist  save  in  the  slightest  degree. 

"All  exaggeration,  every  word  of  it,"  said  an  energetic 
business  man  to  me  only  the  other  day,  —  one  who  every  day 
of  his  life  walked  down  to  his  office,  his  way  lying  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  some  of  the  worst  sights  New  York  has  to 
offer.  Two  minutes  from  Broadway  would  take  him  into  the 
"  Great  Bend  "  on  Mulberry  Street,  and  his  own  place  of  busi- 
ness has  at  its  back  a  nest  of  tenement-houses,  one,  at  least, 
with  a  cellar  which  has  harbored  many  a  criminal.  Neverthe- 
less, like  many  another,  he  knows  nothing  of  the  wretched  life 
existing  almost  under  his  eyes. 

Of  the  same  mental  order  are  certain  good  women,  long 
members  of  the  Charity  Organization  Society,  but  so  absorbed 
in  the  work  of  their  pet  institution  as  to  be  quite  insensible  to 
any  form  of  life  going  on  without  the  scope  of  their  somewhat 
limited  vision.     They,  too,  think  this  talk  about  the  misery  of 

(352) 


SHAME-FACED  JIM.  353 

great  cities  must  be  drawn  from  fancy,  and  deny  thai  Tact  has 
any  such  picture  to  present.     But  he  who  lias  once  Been  fairly, 

fare  to  face,  these  dens  in  which  not  only  vice,  but  the  ex- 
tremest  poverty,  often  take  refuge,  lias  learned  what  can 
never  be  forgotten,  and  knows  that  no  words  can  tell  in  full 
the  horror  that  dwells  in  this  darkness. 

Michael  Dunn's  sad,  gray  eyes  used  to  look  pitifully  at  any 
one  who  crawled  into  the  Water  Street  Mission,  just  out  from 
prison  or  released  from  the  Island,  without  friends  or  money 
and  with  no  knowledge  of  where  to  turn  for  help.  He  knew 
what  it  meant,  and  one  by  one  he  gathered  these  forlorn  souls 
about  him  till  the  Mission  had  no  more  room,  and  he  estab- 
lished himself  almost  directly  opposite  in  a  tumbledown  tene- 
ment,—  a  wooden  house  whose  roof,  caving  in  near  the  ridge- 
pole and  bulging  at  most  other  points,  showed  what  years  had 
gone  since  ground  was  first  broken  for  its  foundation.  Here 
they  came  for  years,  of  all  ages,  types,  and  conditions;  and 
Michael  found  such  work  as  he  could  for  them,  knowing  well 
that  "  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still  for  idle  hands  to  do." 

Here  hoary  old  offenders  sat  side  by  side  with  boys  still  in 
their  teens,  and  made  brooms  or  wove  baskets,  and  as  the  story 
went  out  that  there  was  a  place  where  all  could  come,  the  num- 
bers grew.  Here  it  was  that  Jim's  shame-faced  countenance 
showed  itself  the  very  day  the  law  had  loosed  its  clutch  upon 
him.  A  companion  had  dragged  him  in  here  to  listen  and 
make  up  his  mind  what  lie  had  better  do. 

It  was  plain  that  Jim  knewrall  of  misery  that  the  slums  had 
to  offer,  and  when  I  saw  him  first  he  was  still  speculating  as  to 
what  chance  life  had  for  him.  Great  blue  eyes  were  Jim's, 
but  looking  out  on  men  with  deep  suspicion  as  to  motives  and 
intentions.  Underneath  it  all  was  aforlornness  that  seemed  to 
demand  help.  Poor  Jim,  his  closely -cropped  hair  told  only 
too  plainly  what  his  last  home  had  been,  and  he  had  decided 
to  hide  at  Michael  Dunn's  till  it  had  had  time  to  grow  a  little! 
Old  Michael's  heart  and  sympathy  went  out  to  him,  and  Jim 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  Michael  and  the  friends  of  his  little 
Mission  could  be  trusted  so  far  as  he  was  willing  to  trust  any- 


354 


AN  EX-CONVICT'S  STORY, 


body.  He  sat  there  eyeing  Michael  narrowly.  It  was  plain 
that  he  did  not  understand  how  any  man  could  willingly  tell 
such  a  story  as  Michael  had  to  tell,  but  it  was  also  plain  that 
he  was  sore-hearted  and  thought  that  the  world  gives  small 

a chance  to  the 
small  rogues, 
while  letting 
the  great  ones 
go  scot  free. 

"I'll  show 
you  where  I 
used  to  hang 
out,"  Jim  said 
to  me  one  day, 
"  if  you  ain't 
ashamed  to  go 
round  the 
block  with  one 
like  me." 

"She's  had 
more'n  one  of 
our  sort  for  an  escort,"  Michael  said, 
with  something  that  was  half  a  smile 
and  half  a  groan,  and  Jim  led  the  way 
toward  Front  Street,  just  beyond  Ful- 
ton Ferry. 
"  There's  one  of  me  homes,"  he  said,  pointing  toward  the 
big  boilers  that  lined  one  side  of  Water  Street.  "  Many's  the 
night  I've  slep  in  one  o'  them,  an'  a  pal  with  me,  when  I  was 
a  little  'un  an'  only  up  to  pickin'  pockets  an'  such.  Sometimes 
we  made  a  good  haul,  an'  then  we'd  be  flush  an'  have  a  bed  in 
a  lodgin'-house.  But  mostly  I  slep  in  packin'  boxes,  or  the 
soft  corners  of  an  alley,  with  a  turn  now  an'  then  in  the  boilers 
or  water-pipes.  There  wasn't  any  one  to  look  after  me,  for  me 
father  was  killed  an'  me  mother  died  in  hospital  when  I  was 
that  small  I'd  no  sense  but  to  run  away  from  all  that  tried  to 
get  me  into  a  'sylum.     Oh,  but  I  dreaded  them  'sylums,  for 


DISCHARGED     CONVICTS    MAK- 
ING  BROOMS. 


A   TOUR   WITH   JIM.  355 

they  said  you'd  be  whipped  an'  starved  an'  made  to  do  what- 
ever you  hated  most,  every  day  <>'  your  life.  I  wasn't  goin' 
to  have  that,  an'  so  a  Lot  of  as  settled  that  we'd  manage  it 
somehow,  an  keep  clear  o' all  that  was  after  us.  There  was 
three  of  us,  Dennis  an'  Tom  an'  meself,  but  they  got  Long 
sentences  than  me,  an*  they  won't  be  out  for  a  good  year  yet." 

We  had  reached  Peck's  Slip,  with  its  network  of  street-rail- 
way tracks  and  the  mass  of  trucks  and  heavy  teams  making 
their  way  over  to  Williamsburg.  Here  and  there  was  a  tall 
warehouse,  but  for  the  most  part  old  buildings  with  every 
sign  of  age  and  decrepitude  loomed  up  on  all  sid<  3.  Before 
one  of  the  buildings  Jim  paused. 

"There's  been  deviltry  enough  in  that  basement  to  sink  a 
city."  he  said,  as  he  looked  down  into  the  darkness  of  what  ap- 
peared to  be  an  old-fashioned  cellar.  It  was  under  a  saloon, 
on  that  day  closed,  with  a  string  of  crape  floating  from  the 
door.  Above  the  saloon  was  a  cheap  manufactory,  and  from 
the  attic  a  frowsy  woman  looked  down,  who  smiled  amiably  at 
Jim  and  beckoned  to  a  sailor  across  the  street. 

The  steps  were  as  old  and  decayed  as  the  house,  and  shook 
under  our  weight  as  we  descended  into  the  cellar.  There  was 
no  light  save  what  entered  from  the  doorway.  A  few  empty 
barrels  were  piled  up  in  one  corner,  and  some  planks  in  an- 
other, and  on  them  was  a  little  straw.  It  was  inconceivable 
that  any  human  being  could  have  used  this  cellar  as  a  lodging- 
place,  damj),  mouldy,  and  tomb-like  as  it  was.  Jim  closed  the 
door  a  moment,  and  the  darkness  as  well  as  the  smell  of  the 
tomb  made  itself  felt.  A  ray  of  light  stole  under  the  door, 
and  I  confess  I  breathed  more  freely  when  it  opened  again. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  Jim  said,  with  a  side-look  at  my  face 
to  see  if  I  was  frightened.  - 1  wanted  you  to  see  how  it  is 
when  you  settle  down  to  it.  It  does  very  well  when  the  water 
ain't  up.  but  sometimes  you  get  caught,  an'  there  isn't  much 
show.  The  tide  comes  in.  you  see.  an'  you  don't  know  just 
when  it's  going  to  do  it.  though  it's  safe  enough  to  say  it'll  be 
on  vou  whenever  there's  a  big  storm.  There  was  one  night, 
not  so  long  before  I  went  up,  that  we  three  was  in  here.     Pat, 


356  A  NIGHT   OF  HORROR. 

who  keeps  the  saloon  above,  had  sworn  we  shouldn't  harbor 
here,  an'  he'd  done  his  best  to  keep  us  out,  even  to  nailin'  up 
the  door  come  night.  But  he  was  no  match  for  us,  though  he 
come  near  bein'  this  time,  for  he  come  down  an'  screwed  up  the 
door  after  we  was  in.  It  was  rainin'  heavy,  an'  all  of  us  pretty 
full  an'  not  much  sense ;  an'  the  first  thing  I  knew,  the  water 
was  on  us  an'  I  woke  up  half  drowned  an'  heard  the  others 
swearin'  an'  try  in'  to  come  to.  I  made  a  rush  for  the  door,  an' 
found  it  tight  against  us,  an'  then  I  felt  round  till  I  got  on  a 
plank,  an'  there  I  floated  around,  an'  Dennis  an'  Tom  the  same, 
till  we  got  our  senses  enough  to  go  for  that  door  all  together. 
We  put  our  shoulders  to  it  and  worked  till  it  gave  way,  but  we 
were  near  enough  to  dyin'  like  rats  in  a  hole,  an'  it  would  take 
a  good  deal  to  get  me  down  there  again,  though  the  Lord 
knows  where  I  am  to  bring  up,  anyhow." 

"We  left  the  cellar  and  walked  on,  glancing  into  first  one 
and  then  another  of  the  same  order.  Some  were  given  over  to 
rag  and  junk-men.  Some  were  simply  storage-places,  but  about 
them  all  was  this  same  aspect  of  age  and  mould  and  all  un- 
wholesomeness.  Heads  and  tails  of  fish  and  unsavory  refuse 
of  every  order  were  under  foot.  Dirt  reigned  supreme ;  such 
dirt  as  the  country  happily  never  knows,  in  which  Nature  fur- 
nishes the  smallest  percentage  and  man  offers  every  type  of 
filth  that  humanity  at  its  worst  can  produce. 

In  the  network  of  narrow  streets  about  this  region  may  be 
found  dens  of  pawnbrokers  or  junk-men,  and  no  end  of  bucket- 
shops,  where  stale  beer  is  sold  by  the  bucket,  all  safe  har- 
bors for  pickpockets,  river-thieves,  and  burglars.  Murder 
stains  are  here ;  cockpits  and  ratpits  with  all  their  accom- 
paniments of  brutality ;  open  spaces  between  front  and  rear 
tenements  where  men  can  spar  without  fear  of  interruption  by 
the  police,  and  everywhere  children  watching  with  experienced 
eyes  every  fresh  scene  in  the  shifting  panorama,  ready  to 
imitate  at  the  first  opportunity.  This  is  the  Fourth  Ward,  but 
the  description  will  apply  equally  to  other  wards,  with  better 
reputation,  but  with  few  facts  to  warrant  it. 

Jim  knew  every  haunt,  but  he  would  not  lead  the  way  be- 


EXPLOITS   OF    RIVER    THIEVES. 


:;:.; 


yond  the  spot  where  he  was  bora  and  where  he  had  tried  thiev- 
ing in  every  form.     Naturally,  where  the  river  is  so  near,  and 

ships  lie  at  the  wharves  daily  discharging  rich  freighl  from  all 
nations,  river-thieving  shows  its  fascinations,  and  even  Michael 
Dunn,  with  his  thoughtful  face  and  deep  eyes— far  removed, 
one  wotdd  say,  from  any  thought  of  evil  —  had  a  flickering 
smile  as  he  told 
me  of  one  exploit 
just  preceding  the 
final  one  which 
sent  Jim  and  his 
crew  to  Sing  Sing- 
prison. 

"  You'd  never 
believe  the  tricks 
of  'em,"  he  said, 
"or  how  they'd 
scheme  to  get 
ahead  of  the  police 
and  night-watch- 
men and  all.  Of- 
ten   a    ship    can't 

discharge  in  a  day,  and  there'll  be  bags  of  coffee  and  spices  and 
all  that  is  worth  while  to  run  risk  for  lyin'  right  there  before 
their  very  eyes  and  invitin'  them  to  do  what  they  can.  The 
owners  know  most  of  the  tricks.  They're  so  on  the  watch 
you'd  never  think  one  could  get  a  chance  at  an  ounce  of  any- 
thing. But  Jim  here  knows  every  inch  of  the  river  as  well  as 
I  used  to  know  the  Thames.  Jim  and  his  pals  went  after  mid- 
night, when  the. watchman  was  gettin'  a  bit  sleepy,  and  rowed 
with  muffled  oars  right  under  the  pier,  lyin'  low  to  make  sure 
no  one  heard  nor  saw  'em. 

"The  docks  was  all  clear.  It  seemed  so  still  and  innocent 
like,  that  even  a  night-watch  might  be  off  his  guard  a  bit,  and 
this  watchman,  what  did  he  do  but  sit  right  down  on  his  bags 
of  coffee  —  a  hundred  an'  more  of  'em  lyin'  there  with  naught 
but  a  pile  of  sackin'  over  'em.     There  he  sat,  noddin'  a  bit, 


'/  /  / 


AN    EAST    RIVKR    DOCK. 


358  BULLDOZERS  OF  THE   STREET. 

maybe,  but  keepin'  his  eyes  open  for  whatever  might  come,  and 
there  under  him,  silent  as  the  grave,  Jim  bored  away  with  a 
big  auger  they'd  brought  with  'em,  —  bored  till  the  coffee  came 
down  in  a  stream  and  that  bag  was  pretty  well  squeezed.  A 
policeman  came  along  while  the  coffee  was  runnin',  and  Jim 
snickered,  for  he  could  hear  him  havin'  a  talk  with  the  watch- 
man. He'd  bored  another  hole  by  that  time,  and  when  the 
talk  above  was  over,  there  was  five  holes  up  through  the  dock 
floor,  and  coffee  enough  in  that  boat  below  to  set  the  boys  up 
for  a  week  of  gamblin'  and  every  deviltry  they  liked.  It's  that 
kind  o'  tale  that  fires  the  young  ones  and  makes  'em  think 
there's  no  fun  on  earth  like  it,  and  they  do  like  gettin'  even 
with  cops  and  owners  and  all  that  keep  riches  to  themselves. 
Put  them  into  a  Reformatory,  and  what  one  doesn't  know  an- 
other does,  and  they  compare  notes  and  experiences  till  there 
ain't  a  way  o'  thievin',  new  or  old,  but  they've  got  it  at  their 
fingers'  ends.  That's  why  I  work  to  keep  'em  separate  where 
I  can ;  but  folks  mostly  thinks  a  Reformatory  must  be  the  place 
for  'em." 

Bayard  Street  has  certain  notorious  "tumbler"  dives, 
where  stale  beer  is  sold  mingled  with  a  whiskey  so  powerful 
that  the  drinker  becomes  drunk  almost  as  he  swallows  it.  In 
all  this  region,  once  quiet  and  reputable,  gangs  of  young 
ruffians  patrol  the  streets  and  make  life  a  terror  to  .the  more 
respectable  element.  Born  in  these  tenement-houses,  and  with 
just  enough  education  to  enable  them  to  read  dime  novels, 
their  ideal  is  to  pose  as  the  bulldozers  of  the  street  which  is 
unfortunate  enough  to  own  them  as  inhabitants.  A  policeman 
would  need  the  arms  of  a  Hindoo  god  and  the  legs  of  a  cen- 
tipede, to  overtake  and  capture  them  for  all  offenses  com- 
mitted. It  is  only  when  a  specially  flagrant  one  occurs  that 
there  is  any  attempt  to  deal  with  them.  For  the  rest,  officers 
wink  at  outrages  that  anywhere  else  in  the  city  would  send 
the  offender  to  the  Island  for  months. 

A  generation  ago  it  was  the  "  Bowery  B'hoy "  who  filled 
this  role,  and  who  was  the  terror  of  all  old  ladies  who  found 
themselves  in  this  once  green  and  shaded  thoroughfare  of  old 


A  TYPICAL  STREET  ROWDY.  359 

New  York.  But  the  Bowery  boy  knew  naught  of  the  heroes 
of  the  cheap  story  papers,  and  was  often  at  heart  a  very  good 
sort  of  fellow,  applauding  every  virtuous  sentiment  heard  at 
the  theatre,  and  settling'  at  last  into  a  decent  citizen.  He  was 
usually  American,  and  here  lies  the  principal  difference  be- 
tween the  rowdy  of  then  and  now.  It  is  chiefly  the  child- 
ren of  the  lowest  order  of  emigrants  who  grow  into  the 
young-  ruffians  without  sense  of  citizenship  save  as  tKey  can, 
at  twenty -one,  sell  their  first  vote,  and  who  know  liberty  only 
as  license. 

One  case  will  stand  for  all.  On  Monroe  Street,  in  a  recent 
day  spent  in  these  regions,  I  at  intervals  encountered  a  hoy  of 
eighteen,  hrutal  in  face  and  form,  walking  always  with  the 
same  lowering  expression,  and  edging  threateningly  toward 
any  younger  or  weaker  boy  encountered  in  his  course.  He 
vanished  presently,  and  when  I  next  saw  him,  an  hour  or  so 
later,  he  was  in  the  hands  of  two  policemen,  both  of  them 
bearing  the  look  of  having  come  through  a  severe  conflict. 
The  boy  was  swearing  furiously,  and  lunging  out  now  and 
then  with  his  fists,  only  ceasing  after  a  blow  or  two  from  the 
officer's  clubs,  justified  here  much  more  than  in  some  cases 
where  they  have  free  use.  Coming  out  an  hour  later  from  a 
tenement-house  on  Roosevelt  Street,  one  of  the  policemen,  an 
old  acquaintance,  faced   me. 

"  Who  was  that  bey  ? "  I  asked. 

"  The  devil  himself,  saving  your  presence,"  returned  his  cap- 
tor with  great  fervor.  "  I've  taken  him  up  not  less  than  twenty 
times  with  my  own  hands,  and  his  lawyer  always  gets  him  off 
with  the  plea  that  I've  a  grudge  agin  him.  Every  one  on  the 
streets  that  he  bulldozes  is  afraid  to  complain  of  him,  because, 
you  see,  they  don't  know  what  he  might  take  into  his  head  to 
do  to  them,  and  so  it's  desperate  work  to  get  one  to  appear 
agin  him.  I  did  get  him  sent  up  once  for  three  months,  and  he 
kept  me  after  him  for  a  year  afterward,  and  no  use.  This  time 
he's  done  for,  for  a  while  anyhow.  There's  an  athletic  club  on 
Monroe  Street,  and  he  went  in  there  and  took  up  a  pair  of 
Indian  clubs,  and  in  two  minutes  had  cleared  out  every  soul  in 


360  REGIONS   OF   VICE   AND   CRIME. 

the  room.  The  fellow  in  charge  went  for  him  and  got  a  terrible 
cut  over  the  eye,  but  he  was  gritty  and  held  on,  and  the  rest 
gave  the  alarm,  and  I  had  my  turn  at  last.  There  ain't  a  boy 
on  the  street,  scared  as  they  are  of  this  boy,  that  doesn't  think 
it  rather  fine  to  copy  after  him,  and  unless  he  commits  murder 
or  tries  his  hand  at  a  big  burglary  I  don't  see  but  what  it's  got 
to  go  on." 

It  does  go  on.  On  East  or  West  side,  gangs  of  young 
ruffians  and  sneak-thieves  prowl  at  night,  or  do  their  work 
boldly  by  day.  They  are  proud  of  their  profession,  and  wel- 
come anything  that  does  away  with  the  necessity  for  continuous 
work  at  trade  or  at  anything  else  that  would  mean  an  honest 
living. 

At  almost  any  point  along  the  river  front  —  though  this 
applies  chiefly  to  the  East  Eiver  —  are  haunts  of  thieves.  It  is 
on  this  side  that  the  foreign  population  is  massed,  and  it  is  from 
them  mainly  that  we  gather  the  army  that  fills  prisons  and 
reformatories.  But  on*  the  West  side  is  a  region  equally  given 
over  to  vice,  and  even  more  dangerous  at  night-time.  Back  of 
the  Cremorne  Mission  on  Thirty-second  Street,  where  Jerry 
McAuley  worked  for  the  last  years  of  his  life,  newer  but  hardly 
less  crowded  and  pestiferous  tenement-houses  are  found  in 
hundreds.  Saloons  are  of  a  better  order,  but  the  whole  region 
is  one  where  open  vice  of  every  form  has  pre-empted  the  ground, 
and  the  decent  citizen  whom  evil  fortune  has  brought  to  this 
region,  and  who  must  make  a  home  here,  stands  appalled  at 
what  his  children  must  confront. 

Here,  too,  save  for  those  who  must  live  in  it,  is  small  belief 
given  to  the  story  of  the  horror  of  the  life  daily  and  hourly 
lived  in  this  region.  Only  a  block  or  two  away  the  streets 
open  directly  from  Fifth  Avenue,  filled  with  high-priced  houses, 
and  owned  by  the  prosperous  business  men  of  the  city,  who 
have  little  knowledge  of  what  sights  lie  within  the  range  of  a 
ten  minutes  walk  of  their  palatial  homes.  "  The  nearer  the 
river  the  nearer  to  hell,"  was  the  saying  of  one  of  the  roughs 
who  had  helped  to  make  it  true,  and  it  is  certain  that  the 
lurking-places  afforded  by  the  great  lumber  and  coal  yards  in 


WHERE   THIEVES   AND    DESPERADOES   THRIVE.  361 

the  vicinity,  and  the  long  stretches  of  street  through  which 
policemen  make  only  an  occasional  round,  are  all  favorable  to 
the  criminal.  It  is  on  the  W«i>t  side  that  -  Bell's  Kitchen  "  has 
its  place;  a  tenement  given  over  to  Italians  of  the  lowest  order, 

with  a  sprinkling  of  Portuguese.  Here  the  knife  punctuates 
and  illustrates  all  discussion,  and  if  murder  is  not  done  it  is  no 
fault  of  the  combatants,  who  at  any  hour  of  day  or  night  may 
he  heard  engaged  in  their  favorite  pursuits.  The  neighborhood 
dreads  yet  takes  a  certain  pride  in  its  desperadoes,  as  an  Italian 
village  may  plume  itself  upon  the  bandits  near  it. 

"Little  Italy,"  is  farther  up,  and  inhabited  by  much  the 
same  class,  but  its  quota  of  thieves  seems  less  than  that  of  other 
regions  where  the  same  life  is  lived.  The  preponderance  of 
crime  is  farther  down,  and  in  the  ward  which  has  had  the 
longest  monopoly  of  it,  thus  making  the  rate  an  always  increas- 
ing one.  It  is  not  that  means  of  many  kinds  are  not  taken  to 
stem  this  tide  of  evil.  Probably  it  is  even  not  so  great,  pro- 
portionately, as  in  the  not  so  remote  days  when  the  Five  Points 
could  not  be  entered  without  a  policeman.  But  the  tenement- 
house  with  its  masses  is  sending  out  a  type  as  difficult  to  deal 
with,  and  for  which  we  try  cures,  after  the  harm  is  done,  far 
more  than  we  study  methods  of  prevention. 

The  police  courts  of  the  Tombs,  Essex  Market,  and  all  the 
points  at  which  justice  is  supposed  to  be  administered,  will  give 
the  student  of  these  problems  many  a  point  upon  which  to 
reflect.  Every  phase  of  human  suffering  is  represented  there, 
but  chiefly  and  always,  day  after  day,  lads  from  sixteen  to 
twenty,  hardened  and  brutal  beyond  conception,  form  the  chief 
source  of  supply,  and  go  up  to  the  Island  only  to  return  with 
seven  devils  more  wicked  than  the  first.  How  to  reach  them 
and  bring  about  any  change  may  well  stir  the  thought  of  those 
who  ponder  over  the  future  of  a  city  which  must  always,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  deal  far  more  with  a  foreign  than  a  native 
population,  and  to  whom  corruption  is  as  yet  a  more  familiar 
form  of  government  than  anything  which  can  bring  about 
righteous  administration  of  law. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

LIFE  OX  BLACKWELL'S  ISLAND  — THE  DREGS  OF  A  GREAT 
CITY  —  WHERE  CRIMINALS,  PAUPERS,  AND  LUNATICS  ARE 
CARED  FOR  — A  CONVICTS  DAILY  LIFE  —  "  DRINK'S  OUR 
CURSE." 

The  "Tub  of  Misery" — A  Miserable  Sight  —  Gutter- Soaked  Rags  and  Mat- 
ted Hair  —  Rounders  —  Terrible  Scenes  —  Insanity  in  Handcuffs  —  Results 
of  Trying  to  "See  Life  "  in  New  York  —  Aristocrats  in  Crime  —  Appeals 
for  Mercy  —  Sounds  that  Make  the  Blood  Run  Cold  —  White  Heads 
Brought  Low  —  A  Pandemonium  —  Vermin-Infested  Clothes  —  Insane 
from  the  "  Horrors  " —  Suicides  —  "  Famine  Meal " —  Odd  Delusions  and 
Beliefs  of  the  Insane  —  The  Queen  of  Heaven  —  The  Mother  of  Forty-five 
Children  —  Snakes  in  his  Stomach — "Oh,  Lord!  They're  Squirming 
Again" — A  Contented  Tinker  —  Waiting  for  the  River  to  Dry  up — "  For 
the  Love  of  God,  Bring  me  a  Coffin'' — A  Ghoul  in  the  Dead-House  —  An 
Irish  Philosopher  — The  Penitentiary  —  Daily  Life  of  Prisoners  —  A  Hard 
Fate  —  Convict  Labor  —  Secret  Communications  between  Prisoners  —  A 
Puzzle  to  Keepers  —  Treating  Crime  as  a  Disease. 

LOXG  ago,  in  days  just  preceding  the  second  war  with 
England,  New  York  boasted  of  two  or  three  famous 
gardens  and  certain  orchards  planted  by  sturdy  Dutch  burgh- 
ers, and  yielding  fruit  impartially  to  their  successors.  From 
Kip's  garden  roses  were  plucked  for  Washington  on  his  last 
visit  to  New  York,  which  he  wore  in  his  buttonhole,  and 
which  made  the  tree  from  which  they  came  always  there- 
after a  prized  possession.  From  an  orchard  no  less  famous 
came  early  summer  apples,  "  Harvest  Boughs,"  and,  later, 
NVwtown  pippins,  which  were  said  to  have  a  finer  flavor  in  the 
orchard  on  Black  well's  Island  than  even  in  their  native  home 
at  Xewtown. 

Here  on  Blackwell's  Island  were  to  be  found  apple  blos- 
soms, bloom  of  cherry  and  peach  and  plum ;  tender  green  of 
grape-vines   for  spring,  and  for   autumn  all  manner  of  fruit 

(362) 


DISGRA4  ED   A.\'l>   DISHONORED.  363 

pleasant  to  the  eye  and  good  for  food.  Yet  over  all  this  was 
always  a  shadow,  the  forerunner  of  the  darker  cloud  in  time 
to  settle  more  heavily  not  only  on  this  but  on  the  whole  clus- 
ter of  fair  islands  which  one  by  one  have  renounced  orchard 

and  homestead  and  given  place  to  buildings  grim,  gray,  and 
formidable,  and  with  each  year  more  crowded  and  more 
numerous. 

Certainly  no  fairer  spot  could  well  have  been  chosen  as 
a  home;  and  the  man  whose  story  is  the  forerunner  of  many 
another  of  far  sadder  and  more  tragical  order  may  have  seen, 
as  he  walked  under  blossoming  trees  and  remembered  better 
days,  men  whose  feet  would  tread  the  same  paths  and  know 
the  same  regrets. 

The  unending  squabbles  between  Dutch  and  English  for 
the  possession  of  Xew  York,  the  horror  of  the  pious  Puritan  at 
the  easv-o-oing,  beer-loving  Hollanders,  and  the  eagerness  of 
both  for  every  chance  of  despoiling  the  Indian, —  all  form  part 
of  the  history  we  study  in  youth,  but  fail  to  grasp  as  actual 
reality  till  some  experience  puts  life  into  the  pages,  and  we 
suddenly  see  men  living  and  breathing  like  ourselves.  There 
is  little  record  of  why  one  Captain  Manning  chose  to  surren- 
der to  the  Dutch  the  English  fort  of  which  he  was  com- 
mander ;  but  choose  he  did,  and  marched  out,  leaving  them 
in  possession,  making  his  own  way  as  speedily  as  possible  to 
England. 

He  was  compelled  to  return  and  meet  his  accusers,  nor 
could  any  influence  ward  off  this  disagreeable  duty.  In  time 
the  court-martial  called  to  inquire  into  the  case  met  and 
brought  six  charges  against  him,  on  each  and  all  of  which  he 
was  found  guilty.  Family  influence  saved  his  life,  but  there 
was  no  saving  him  from  the  deserved  dishonor  of  cowardly 
surrender,  and  he  was  sentenced  to  have  his  sword  broken 
over  his  head,  to  forfeit  all  rights  of  citizenship,  and  never  to 
receive  office  under  citv  or  general  government. 

This  was  the  end  of  Captain  Manning  for  all  public  life, 
and  when  the  broken  fragments  of  the  dishonored  sword  fell 
at  his  feet  he  turned  toward  the  spot  which  a  few  years  before 


364  THE   STORY   OF  BLACKWELL'S  ISLAND. 

he  had  chosen  as  a  retreat  for  his  old  age,  and  on  the  then 
nameless  island  hid  his  face  from  all  men. 

Time  dealt  kindly  with  the  offender.  His  step-children 
grew  to  womanhood,  and  one  of  them  presently  married  young 
Robert  Blackwell,  to  whom  the  old  Captain  left  the  island 
which  had  taken  his  name  at  the  celebration  of  the  wedding. 
For  a  hundred  years  the  family  continued  in  possession,  but  in 
1828  the  city  bought  it  and  put  up  cheap  temporary  buildings 
for  various  purposes,  chiefly  as  Almshouse  and  its  dependen- 
cies. By  1850  it  had  become  plain  that  more  room  was  needed, 
and  the  cornerstone  of  the  present  Workhouse  was  laid.  The 
Penitentiary  had  preceded  it,  and  the  convicts  themselves  quar- 
ried the  bluestone  rubble  and  the  heavy  blocks  of  granite  which 
form  the  sea  wall  and  many  of  the  buildings. 

To-day  the  island  holds  the  Penitentiary,  Workhouse,  Alms- 
house, Lunatic  Asylum,  Blind  Asylum,  Charity  Hospital,  Hos- 
pital for  Incurables  and  for  Convalescents,  with  the  numberless 
outbuildings  necessary  for  the  carrying  on  of  work  and  feed- 
ing and  providing  for  some  seven  thousand  persons. 

To  know  the  story  of  to-day's  life  on  Blackwell's  Island  one 
must  take  passage  on  the  boat  that  leaves  New  York  every 
morning  with  its  crowd  of  prisoners,  visitors,  and  officials. 
The  air  from  the  river  is  welcome  after  the  throng  on  the  dock 
through  which  one  must  push  to  reach  the  little  window  behind 
which  stands  a  suspicious  clerk  whose  business  is  to  get  as  many 
in  the  next  room  in  a  given  space  of  time  as  can  be  handed  on. 
There  one  meets  a  stout  and  remarkably  good-natured  police- 
man, whose  face  belies  the  sternness  of  his  voice,  and,  once  be- 
yond him  must  pass  under  the  eyes  of  an  old  man  who  orders 
back  the  stray  women  who  insist  on  going  through  the  wrong 
gate.  He  does  it  philosophically,  as  if  nothing  else  could  be 
expected,  and  there  is  something  of  the  same  attitude  in  all  the 
older  officials. 

On  the  boat  itself  one  may  see  types  of  every  form  of  pov- 
erty, crime,  and  evil  inheritance,  and  thus  gain  some  sense  of 
what  those  nearest  them  must  almost  inevitably  be.  Saturday 
is  "  visitors'  day,"  and  the  "  tub  of  misery,"  as  the  boat  is  called, 


LOADS    OK    III   MAN    MISER!  . 


365 


swarms  with  friends  of  paupers,  insane,  and  convicts,  most  of 
them  carrying  fruit  or  small  luxuries,  and  all  busy  in  telling 
the  tale  of  why  they  are  there. 


I'TV  '^t >cj  121*5":- 


**  "nil1     I i     I k 


IN    THE   CELL.      BLACKWELL's   ISLAND   PENITENTIARY. 

The  prison  van,  known  as  the  "Black  Maria,"  rolls  through 
the  gate  with  its  load  of  human  misery,  —  prisoners  "sent  up 
to  the  Island."  The  crowd  make  a  rush  forward,  to  find  the 
gate  suddenly  shut  in  their  faces,  but,  as  the  next  van  appears, 
rush  again,  nowise  deterred  by  their  experience. 


366  ON  THE  WAY  TO   PRISON. 

"No  you  don't,"  says  the  old  gateman;  "they'll  get  out 
well  enough  without  you." 

Certainly  they  could  hardly  get  out  worse.  The  door  of 
the  vehicle  is  opened,  and  the  waiting  policeman  receives  the 
first  installment  of  women  sent  up  for  drunkenness  or  other 
offenses.  Two  descend  quietly,  but  a  sound  of  jubilant  singing 
within  warns  him  that  one  at  least  is  not  yet  over  the  carouse 
that  brought  her  here.  Some  force  is  necessary  before  she  can 
be  induced  to  move,  and  then  in  the  doorway  appears  a  crea- 
ture hardly  human,  it  would  seem ;  in  woman's  dress,  but  with 
little  token  besides  of  womanhood;  a  mass  of  foul,  gutter- 
soaked  rags ;  matted  hair,  with  a  black  eye  and  cut  face,  and 
on  her  feet  one  shoe  and  a  man's  boot.  She  lurches  forward, 
still  ■  singing  and  shouting,  and  is  followed  by  a  young  girl  not 
over  sixteen,  gaudily  dressed,  and  with  painted  cheeks.  Be- 
hind her  come  seven  others  of  all  ages,  one  a  white-headed 
woman  muttering  and  cursing. 

"  "What !  Down  again  to-day  ? "  the  policeman  says  to  her. 
"  You've  been  quick.     You  only  got  out  yesterday." 

She  answers  with  a  curse  as  she  is  hurrie^  on  with  the  rest 
to  the  room  with  barred  windows  where  they  sit  till  the  Island 
is  reached.  One  violently  insane  patient  is  led  along  hand- 
cuffed and  protesting,  and  there  are  one  or  two  milder  cases 
of  insanity.  Then  comes  the  van  with  the  men  whose  cases 
have  been  judged  at  the  various  city  police  courts ;  the  first  a 
boy  of  twenty,  who  has  come  from  the  country,  and  in  his  en- 
deavor "  to  see  life "  ended  by  a  three  weeks'  sentence  to  the 
Workhouse.  Behind  him  comes  a  man  just  emerged  from  a 
prize-fight,  who  will  need  the  hospital  before  his  sentence  can 
be  worked  out,  and  then  a  row  of  young  thieves  and  ruffians 
on  their  way  to  prisoners'  cells  in  the  Penitentiary,  who  chaff 
and  jeer  each  other  as  they  pass  into  the  hold. 

All  about  are  the  friends,  some  sympathetic,  a  few  ashamed, 
but  for  the  most  part  of  the  same  order.  One  quiet  little 
woman  in  black  looks  with  sorrowful  eyes  at  the  brutal  faces. 
Her  own  boy  is  on  the  Island  for  thieving  from  his  employer, 
and  she  has  a  little  basket  with  fruit  and  some  luxuries. 


.].  'I.I.ITY    AND    MISERY    SIDE    BY    BIDE. 


3t; 


The  trip  from  the  city  requires  bul  a  few  moments.  On 
the  journey  we  pass  Bellevue  Hospital,  whence  come  physi- 
cians, nurses,  and  crowds  of  eager  students,  who  sometimes  to 
the  number  of  three  hundred  or  more  go  over  on  the  hospital 


prisoners'    cells    in    the    penitentiary,    blacewell's    island,    (the 
dark  cells  are  on  the  lower  floor.) 

boat  to  the  clinics  at  the  Charity  Hospital,  shouting  and  sing- 
ing on  the  journey,  after  the  manner  of  their  kind. 

The  prisoners'  boat  is  manned  by  men  detailed  from  the 
Workhouse,  and  it  soon  appears  that  they  rank  many  grades 
lower  than  the  prisoners  in  the  Penitentiary,  offenders  in  the 
latter  considering  themselves  aristocrats  in  crime,  and  those 
with  longest  sentences  and  most  aggravated  offenses  highest  in 
rank.  The  AVorkhouse  recruits  are  braAvlers,  hummers,  round- 
ers, anything  that  expresses  the  nature  of  the  chronic  tramp 


3G8  SCENES   ON   THE   PRISONERS'   BOAT. 

and  shirker,  or  the  habitual  drinker.  Their  dirty  brown  uni- 
form stamped  on  the  back  is  less  exhilarating,  it  appears,  than 
the  zebra-like  stripes  of  the  convict,  and  it  is  equally  so  among 
the  women. 

Often  there  seems  to  be  among  the  prisoners'  friends  a  cer- 
tain pride  in  the  position,  and  women  vie  with  one  another  in 
the  number  of  times  some  relative  has  been  sent  up,  and  what 
he  or  she  said  to  the  judge  who  sentenced  them. 

"  The  cost  to  the  city  ? "  cried  a  stout  Irishwoman,  who  had 
crowded  a  meek  little  woman  from  her  place,  and  now  looked 
around  prepared  for  battle.  "  The  cost  to  the  city  is  it !  Shure 
didn't  I  hear  me  own  son  say,  —  him  that  was  sint  up  for 
nothin'  but  -a  bit  o'  fun  wid  the  little  Jew  round  the  corner,  — 
that  he'd  heard  the  warden  say  'twas  but  fifteen  cints  a  head ; 
more  shame  to  thim  that  starves  the  helpless,  says  I.  They'd 
make  their  own  grandmothers'  bones  into  broth  an'  be  lickin' 
their  chops  to  think  how  nate  they'd  saved  ixpinse." 

"  Shure  the  whole  Island's  like  that,"  responded  a  moon- 
faced woman  near  her.  "  There's  naught  but  spoon- victuals  in 
all  the  loony  tic  'sylum,  an'  thim  as  in  it  fit  to  break  in  two 
with  the  hunger.  It's  thim  docthors  does  it  to  see  what'll 
come  next,  an'  they  always  standin'  by  with  their  books  an' 
writin'  an'  writin'  down  the  best  way  o'  gettin'  folks  out  o'  the 
world." 

"  What  you  talkin'  about  ? "  broke  in  one  of  the  deck-hands, 
a  Workhouse  prisoner,  but  evidently  an  unaccustomed  one. 
"  I've  had  the  'sylum  grub,  and  it's  better  than  we  get  in  the 
Workhouse.  They  feed  'em  high  to  make  'em  get  well  quicker 
and  save  the  city  expense ;  and  there's  many  a  one  goes  out 
cured,  for  my  own  brother  is  one  and  stands  up  for  the  doc- 
tors." 

"  It's  a  masher  may  be  you  are  on  the  Bowery  whin  you're 
out  o'  your  present  suit,"  the  big  woman  began  wrathfully,  but 
the  whistle  sounded,  the  deck-hand  hurried  to  his  post  and 
blocked  the  way  against  the  pushing  throng  till  the  boat  was 
made  fast,  holding  himself  meantime  as  if  the  word  "  masher  " 
had  recalled  former  glories.     The  prisoners  marched  off  the 


BLOOD-CURDLING   BOUNDS.  3G9 

boat,  a  motley  throng,— a  young  girl  hiding  her  face  and  weep- 
ing bitterly;  a  drunken  woman  and  her  baby  sent  up  by  her  hus- 
band as  a  last  resort  ;  a  man  shrieking  with  the  "horrors"  and 
beating  off  invisible  monsters  with  his  clenched  lists;  a  lot 
from  a  dance-house  in  "Water  Street,  arrested  and  sent  up  for 
disorderly  conduct ;  and  two  wretched  old  hags  in  worse  c 
than  any  of  their  companions.  From  below  sounded  piercing 
cries,  and  the  "masher  "  shook  his  head. 

"  Them  lunytics  don't  know  what's  good  for  'em,"  he  said 
confidentially  to  a  frightened-looking  woman  who  shrunk  back 
as  the  cries  went  on.  "  You  don't  need  to  be  scarell.  lie's  in 
a  close  shut  am  by  lance  that  it  took  three  to  get  him  into,  and 
it'll  take  more'n  three  to  get  him  out  he's  worked  hisself  up 
so." 

The  cries  went  on ;  shrieks  for  help,  appeals  for  mercy, 
curses  on  those  who  were  torturing  him  ;  sounds  that  made  the 
blood  run  cold,  and  yet  they  meant  no  more  than  the  extrem- 
ity of  delusion.  An  old  man  with  bent  frame  and  heart-broken 
face  turned  for  a  moment  and  listened. 

"  I'd  rather  be  him  than  me,"  he  said,  "  for  he  don't  know 
where  he's  goin'  and  I  do,"  and  he  dragged  on  toward  the 
Almshouse,  where  his  days  were  to  end. 

To  obtain  entrance  to  the  Island  at  all,  a  permit  is  neces- 
sary from  the  Commissioners  of  Charities  and  Correction. 
Even  armed  with  this  authority  one  is  eyed  severely  and  dis- 
trustfully. Innocent-looking  visitors  have  gone  over,  who  de- 
veloped afterward  into  reporters.  Others  entering  as  "  cases  " 
have  presently  shown  the  same  features,  and  therefore  officials 
are  apparently  on  their  guard,  and  permit  and  person  are 
closely  scanned. 

The  buildings  are  of  feudal  character,  turreted  and  battle- 
mented  and  of  imposing  size  and  height.  Yonder  is  the  Char- 
ity Hospital  with  its  thousands  of  human  wrecks,  none  more 
piteous  than  its  husbandless  mothers  and  fatherless  children. 
The  old  orchards  are  gone,  but  trees  grew  in  their  place,  lining 
the  long  avenues,  or  grouping  here  and  there.  Birds  build  and 
sing  in  the  drooping  branches,  and  doves  brood  and  coo  under 


370 


THE  WORKHOUSE  AND   ITS  INMATES. 


the  eaves,  while  the  blue  water  flashes  under  the  sunshine,  and 
fresh  wind  sweeps  through  and  over  all. 

It  is  with  the  Workhouse  we  have  to  deal  at  present ;  its 
central  building  flanked  by  two  enormous  wings,  the  northern 
for  men,  the  southern  for  women.  In  the  central  part  are  the 
warder's  and  physician's  rooms,  the  laundries,  a  great  room  or 


HUSBANDLESS   MOTHERS    AND   FATHERLESS   CHILDREN    LN    THE    CHARITY   HOSPI- 
TAL, blackwell's  ISLAND. 

hall  for  chapel,  but  serving  as  sewing-room  for  the  women  and 
for  many  other  purposes.  A  new  kitchen  with  all  modern  ap- 
pliances has  lately  been  added,  thus  giving  up  the  old  one  for 
more  laundry  space,  all  needed  for  the  two  thousand  and  more 
prisoners  —  five  hundred  and  fifty  of  whom  are  women  —  being 
provided  for  on  the  ground. 

Let  us  follow  the  Workhouse  group,  who,  having  left  the 
boat,  wait  for  a  few  moments  under  the  trees,  some  looking 
about  curiously,  for  it  is  their  first  time ;  others  calling  to  one 
and  another  acquaintance.  A  knot  of  women  in  the  Work- 
house uniform  come  down  the  road  on  their  way  to  a  day's 


RAGGED    AND    FILTHY    \\\l\J  KB.  371 

scrubbing  in  Bellevue.  Their  dresses  are  of  heavy  bed-ticking, 
deep  cape  sunbonnets  hide  their  faces;  but  one  woman  pauses 

as  she  passes,  and  looks  at  the  men  just  forming  into  line,  and 
then  at  the  group  of  women. 

"  God  help  us  !  "  she  says.  "  Drink's  our  curse.  If  it  wasn't 
for  the  liquor  we'd  all  be  foine  men  an'  women.  Sure,  why  did 
I  ever  put  the  dirty  stuff  inside  me  mouth  !  " 

The  women  march  on  silently  toward  the  Workhouse  door 
and  file  into  the  office,  where  they  are  seated  <>n  Long  benches 
till  registered ;  the  same  ceremony  being  gone  through  with  for 
men  and  women.  The  register  is  a  history  of  each  case,  and, 
evade  as  she  may,  each  woman  is  finally  pinned  to  something 
like  fact.  A  white-headed  woman  —  certainly  seventy — makes 
her  replies  in  a  whisper. 

"  She  was  a  lady  once,"  the  warden  says,  "  She  took  to 
drink  when  her  husband  died,  and  she's  here  most  of  the  time. 
She  went  up  last  Monday,  and  here  it  is  Thursday  and  she's 
back  again  for  six  weeks.  I  ain't  sure  but  what  she  might  bet- 
ter be  let  to  drink  herself  to  death  and  be  done  with  it,  for 
that's  what  it  will  end  in.'' 

Ragged  and  filthy,  with  matted  hair  and  bruised  face,  the 
old  woman  does  not  lift  her  white  head  as  she  follows  the  rest 
into  the  bathroom,  where  all  are  compelled  to  bathe  and  put 
on  the  uniform,  their  own  clothes  being  rolled  in  a  bundle  with 
a  numbered  wooden  tag  fastened  to  it.  Twenty  minutes  later 
the  transformation  is  complete,  and  we  find  her  clean,  combed, 
and  generally  made  over,  knitting  stockings  quietly  as  any  old 
lady  could,  on  one  of  the  long  benches  of  the  general  work- 
room. 

Xo  talking  is  allowed  save  at  fixed  times,  and  a  certain 
amount  of  work  is  compulsory.  Some  two  hundred  women  are 
employed  in  the  sewing-room,  knitting  stockings  for  the  in- 
mates, darning  and  repairing  generally,  and  making  garments 
for  the  Randall's  Island  children.  The  number  of  white  heads 
is  appalling,  but  they  are  chiefly  old  hags  long  given  to  drink, 
who  began  life  in  low  dance-houses  and  are  ending  it  in  the  gut- 
ter, knowing  no  decency  save  as  it  is  forced  upon  them  here. 


372  a  pauper's  bill  of  fare. 

The  floors  are  scoured  as  white  as  the  deck  of  a  man-of- 
war,  often  by  most  unwilling  hands  taking  here  their  first 
lesson  in  care  and  order.  When  the  art  of  scrubbing  has  been 
mastered,  numbers  of  the  women  are  detailed  to  other  institu- 
tions, and  the  old  inhabitants  of  the  Almshouse  smile  with 
satisfaction  as  they  remember  the  past  and  all  its  miseries. 
For  many  a  year  the  respectable  paupers,  often  through  no 
fault  of  their  own,  were  packed  in  with  the  order  of  criminal 
now  sent  to  the  Workhouse,  and  forced  to  submit  to  an  asso- 
ciation degrading  and  offensive  in  every  way.  Drunkenness 
and  petty  thieving  were  the  offenses  which  took  one  there, 
and  abuses  of  every  order  reigned.  A  board  of  ten  gov- 
ernors distributed  matters  so  evenly  that  no  one  was  respon- 
sible, and  the  place  was  a  pandemonium. 

At  last  an  attempt  was  made  to  draw  the  line  between 
vice  and  laziness.  Comfort  was  the  right  of  the  helpless 
pauper.  It  was  not  the  right  of  the  tramp,  the  habitual 
drunkard,  the  "rounder,"  who  used  the  Island  as  a  spot  in 
which  to  recover  from  sprees  and  go  out  refreshed  for  a  new 
one.  The  Workhouse  must  be  a  House  of  Industry,  to  lessen 
pauperism ;  and  thus  every  facility  is  given  for  working,  and 
it  has  ceased  to  be  a  training-school  for  the  Penitentiary. 

The  long  corridors  are  spotlessly  clean.  The  wind  sweeps 
through  them,  and  all  taint  flies  before  it.  A  savory  smell 
comes  with  it,  and  as  we  leave  the  workrooms  a  bell  sounds, 
and  from  all  quarters  the  women  file  silently  toward  the 
dining-room.  Here  are  long,  narrow .  tables,  each  place  with 
tin  plate  and  spoon.  By  the  door  are  enormous  baskets  of 
bread  cut  in  hunches,  each  woman  receiving  one  as  she  passes 
in,  and  looking  jealously  to  see  if  her  neighbor's  happens  to 
be  bigger. 

The  bill  of  fare  is  the  same  for  men  and  women :  Cocoa 
and  bread  for  breakfast ;  for  dinner  beef  soup  Avith  vegetables 
twice  a  week,  and  salt  fish  and  potatoes  for  Fridays,  with  salt 
beef  and  cabbage  on  other  days,  and  on  Sundays  boiled  or 
roast  beef.  The  kitchen  is  as  spotless  as  every  other  portion 
of  the  building,  and  scrubbing  is  always  going  on. 


WASTED    LIVESs 


373 


On  the  men's  side  the  shoemaker's  shop  has  some  thirty  al 
work  repairing  and  making.  The  tailor's  shop  is  equally  busy, 
repairing  being  incessant,  and  an  even  more  disagreeable 
order  of*  work,  since  the  clothes  are  often  filled  with  vermin, 
which  the  ordinary  bath  has  no  power  to  extirpate. 


IN8ANE  PATIENTS  AT    WORK    IN    THE    BRUSH   SHOP,    BLACKWELL  S    [BLAND. 

In  the  old  days  flogging  was  the  customary  punishment, 
but  the  dark  cell  has  taken  its  place  and  is  dreaded  beyond 
any  other  form  of  punishment.  All  shirk  work  the  moment 
a  keeper's  back  is  turned  or  a  friendly  wall  gives  momentary 
shelter  from  his  gaze.  Wheelbarrows  are  dropped,  hoers  lean  <  >n 
the  handles,  and  all  regard  even  five  minutes  respite  as  so  much 
clear  gain.  The  mass  are  hardly  to  be  made  over.  If  man  or 
woman  shows  a  desire  to  reform,  or  energy  that  may  be 
turned  in  better  directions,  their  chance  is  not  here.  It  is 
quite  plain,  after  a  look  or  two  at  these  faces,  that  for  this 
world  their  chance  is  practically  over.     For  most  of  them  the 


374  TREATMENT   OF  THE  INSANE. 

wonder  is  that  they  ever  reform  or  even  wish  to.  Born  in 
the  slums,  and  knowing  evil  from  babyhood,  the  stronger 
natures  gravitate  naturally  to  the  Penitentiary,  the  weaker  to 
this  place,  which  since  the  corner-stone  was  laid  has  seen  over 
a  quarter  of  a  million  inmates  come  and  go.  Nor  is  it 
likely  that  the  number  will  lessen,  in  spite  of  the  amount  of 
work  done  among  them.  To  rescue  the  children  is  the  chief 
task  and  the  only  effectual  one.  For  the  rest  will  be  this 
alternation  of  debauchery  and  punishment  till  the  end  comes 
and  the  Potter's  Field  receives  them. 

Five  minutes'  walk  under  an  avenue  of  green  trees,  and  the 
high  fence  about  the  Lunatic  Asylum  is  reached,  the  pass  shown, 
and  the  great  buildings  stand  full  before  one.  Opposite  the 
Island  the  pretty  shore  of  Kavenswood  slopes  to  the  water's 
edge  and  the  stately  buildings  on  Ward's  Island  are  just  be- 
yond. The  asylum  itself  includes  three  buildings  :  the  asylum 
proper,  the  Lodge  or  Madhouse,  and  the  Retreat.  All  the  most 
violent  cases  are  confined  in  the  Lodge,  where  visitors  are  never 
allowed.  The  center  of  the  main  building,  octagonal  in  form, 
is  devoted  to  offices,  a  receiving-room,  etc.,  and  the  wards  open 
out  from  this.  The  general  arrangement  is  like  those  of  most 
asylums,  but  there  are  no  private  rooms,  and  the  beds  in  the 
dormitories  are  ranged  closely  together,  with  attendants 
stationed  at  intervals.  In  the  convalescent  ward  the  end  is 
fitted  up  as  a  reception-room  for  friends,  and  is  brightened  with 
pictures  and  flowers.  Above  this  is  a  ward  for  the  milder 
cases,  and  here  the  patients  gather  —  some  fifty  or  so,  a  few 
knitting  or  sewing,  but  the  majority  idle. 

Except  in  cases  of  melancholia,  in  which  it  is  often  impos- 
sible to  rouse  the  patient,  employment  is  insisted  upon  as  one 
chief  means  of  cure.  Those  in  whom  mild  delusion  is  the  diffi- 
culty are  soon  interested,  and  the.  amount  of  work  accomplished 
is  surprising.  Two-thirds  of  the  patients  are  foreign.  Restraint 
is  used  only  in  case  of  necessity,  and  where  rough  handling  or 
brutality  of  any  sort  occurs,  it  is  the  work  of  some  untrained  or 
angry  attendant,  the  doctors  protesting  against  such  action 
even  in  extreme  cases. 


SUICIDAL    PATIENTS. 


375 


The  medical  staff  is  supplied  from  Bellevue  and  is  always 
composed  of  picked  men.     The  resident  physician  is  autocrat, 

but  consults  with  the  stall",  always  four  or  live  in  number.     One 
attendant    is   allowed    to   every    fifteen    patients,    four-fifths   of 


INSANE    PATIENTS    AT    WORK     IN     THE     BASKET    WEAVING     KUO.M,    13LACKWELL  S 

[BLAND. 

whom  are  here  for  mania.  The  rest  are  idiots,  paralytics,  or 
temporarily  insane  from  the  "  horrors."  From  sixty  to  seventy 
are  suicidal  and  require  close  watching.  Xow  and  then  one 
makes  a  break  for  the  river,  and  one  or  two  have  thus  drowned 
themselves,  but  accidents  are  few. 

The  form  of  entrance  is  much  like  that  of  the  ^Workhouse  so 
far  as  registration  and  bath  are  concerned.  The  patient,  who 
cannot  be  entered  without  a  certificate  of  insanity,  is  examined 
by  the  resident  physician,  who  determines  in  what  ward  the 
patient  shall  be  placed.  For  the  most  part,  all  save  violent 
cases  are  assigned  to  the  first,  till  doctors  and  attendants  have 
had  time  to  judge  the  nature  of  the  case.     As  many  as  possible 


376  AMUSEMENTS   OF   THE   INSANE. 

are  kept  in  the  convalescent  ward,  which  has  privileges  not 
allowed  in  others.  Chronic  harmless  cases  are  allowed  all 
possible  freedom,  and  work  in  one  of  the  shops  or  in  the  sewing- 
room,  always  under  observation.  Basket-weaving  and  mat- 
making  are  favorite  industries,  and  several  of  the  patients 
crochet  the  beautiful  Irish  lace  which  is  on  sale  in  the  visitors' 
room. 

Twenty  acres  of  land  belong  to  the  asylum,  and  are  culti- 
vated to  the  highest  pitch  by  the  patients.  Flowers  are  every- 
where, and  the  greenhouse  is  another  source  of  pleasure  to  the 
workers  in  it.  The  water-supply  flows  through  submarine 
pipes  from  the  Croton  reservoir  and  is  abundant.  In  the  new 
cook-house,  soup  is  boiled  in  set  kettles  through  which  steam 
pipes  pass,  and  is  carried  to  the  dining-room  in  huge  pails. 
The  dietary  is  a  generous  one.  Soup  predominates,  but  it  is  of 
the  most  nourishing  order,  and  there  is  no  limit  as  to  quantity. 
Knives  and  forks  are  allowed  to  very  few,  and  tin  plates  have 
proved  the  best  form  of  dish,  as  they  cannot  be  broken.  Over 
two  hundred  were  dining  together  in  perfect  quiet,  save  for  lit- 
tle outbursts  here  and  there.  Mush  and  molasses  on  Friday 
always  rouses  objection.  The  Irishman  has  never  taken  kindly 
to  Indian  corn  in  any  form,  and  resents  being  forced  to  use  it. 

Till  very  lately  there  was  small  provision  for  amusement, 
but  the  attendant  physicians  realized  long  ago  how  vital  a  fac- 
tor this  was  in  cure,  and  begged  for  larger  quarters.  A  large 
and  airy  hall  has  at  last  been  built,  and  here  at  least  once  a 
week  all  who  are  not  too  excited  by  numbers  gather  together, 
dance,  sing,  or  are  given  some  light  entertainment.  The  de- 
light in  this  is  a  thing  that  passes  on  from  one  week  to  the 
next,  and  every  scrap  of  ornament  is  treasured  and  put  on  for 
the  occasion. 

More  than  one  of  the  patients  believe  that  the  resident 
physician  is  God,  and  address  prayers  and  sing  hymns  to  him, 
this  being  the  prelude  to  dance  or  game  if  he  enters  the  hall. 
A  maiden  of  fifty  believes  that  she  will  ruin  her  complexion 
unless  she  wears  continuously  a  mask  cut  from  an  old  paste- 
board box,  and  she  waves  a  fan  of  the  same  material  in  the 


'MURDERS   I'.V    THE   SCORE.'' 


377 


most  stately  manner.  As  In  every  asylum,  there  is  one  who 
believes  herself  the  Queen  of  Beaven,  and  daily  receives  dis- 
patches from  God;  and  one  who  owns  it  and  everything  in  it, 
doctors  included.  Across  the  room  sits  a  patient  who  receives 
guests  affably  and  announces  herself  as  the  widow  of  President 
Garfield.  A  rag  doll  on  the  little  table  by  her  bed  is  one  of 
her  forty-live  children,  all  of  whom  arc  grown  up  and  doing 
well.  —  most  of  them,  she  says,  in  line  positions. 


Tin;     LUNATICS      CHARIOT,     DRAWN 
LUNATICS   CHAINED   TOGETHER. 


Near  her  is  a  little  woman 
with  twinkling  blue  eyes  and  a 
particularly  merry  laugh,  who  dances  with  delight,  hut  pauses 
at  intervals  to  whisper  of  the  horrors  she  could  tell  if  she  were 
disposed. 

"Murders  by  the  score,  —  yes.  by  the  score."  she  says,  look- 
ing suspiciously  about  her ;  "but  the  victims  are  thrown  into 
the  river  at  once,  so  that  no  one  has  to  mention  it.  Take  care  ; 
I  shall  be  heard,"  —  and  she  laughs  again  and  nods  to  her  part- 
ner, a  silent  man,  who  chuckles  to  himself  at  intervals  and 
moves  his  lips  noiselessly.  Another,  at  present  cutting  pigeon- 
wings  learned  in  his  youth,  has  a  nest  of  snakes  in  his  stomach, 
and  sits  down  suddenly,  crying  with  loud  voice,  "  Oh.  Lord  ! 
They're  squirming  again  !  " 

It  is  a  popular  delusion  that  makes  the  test  of  insanity  wild 
eyes  and  inflamed  countenance.  Often  weeks  pass  before  a 
patient  says  an  irrational  word,  and  save  for  some  special  de- 


378  ODD   DELUSIONS  OF  THE  INSANE.     ■ 

lusion  many  are  perfectly  competent  for  all  ordinary  affairs  of 
life.  Yonder,  for  instance,  is  an  admirable  tinker,  when  he 
can  spare  time.  Most  of  it,  however,  is  occupied  in  standing 
by  the  river,  waiting  for  it  to  dry  up,  when  he  intends  to 
cross  and  resume  his  station  in  society.  Now  and  then  he  en- 
ters the  office  and  applies  for  a  pass,  but  when  told  that  he 
must  first  get  a  Paris  hat,  he  nods  assent  and  goes  out  con- 
tentedly. 

One  patient,  mad  from  confirmed  opium-eating,  shouted  con- 
tinuously for  a  coffin : 

"  For  the  love  of  God  bring  a  coffin  !  I've  been  dead  ten 
days  !     What  do  you  mean  by  not  bringing  a  coffin  ? " 

In  the  dead-house  sits  an  old  patient  who  would  rejoice  to 
meet  his  wishes  if  he  could.  Corpses  are  his  delight.  One 
coffin  fills  him  with  satisfaction,  and  every  additional  one  is  a 
fuller  joy.  He  will  not  leave  them,  but  sits  like  an  ancient 
and  always  good-natured  ghoul,  wishing  he  could  pile  the  cof- 
fins higher. 

Under  the  trees  sits  a  one-armed  French  soldier  who  believes 
he  is  one  of  Napoleon's  marshals  and  that  the  Emperor  is  to 
come  again.  An  Irish  philosopher,  a  graduate  of  Dublin  Uni- 
versity, and  here  from  drink  and  opium,  owns  the  island,  but 
lends  it  by  the  day  to  the  institutions. 

"  To-morrow,  may  be,  I'll  have  'em  all  pulled  clown,"  he  says 
reflectively.  "  I'm  thinking  foine  gyardens  would  look  better 
and  more  cheerful  like,  but  there's  no  hurry.  Whin  the  time 
comes  there's  enough  to  carry  out  me  orders  and  no  bother  to 
meself .  There's  no  hurry  at  all,  and  I  wouldn't  be  discommod- 
ing the  Doctors,  not  I." 

Down  the  long  walk  comes  a  group  of  women  out  with  an 
attendant,  all  of  them  in  the  asylum  uniform  of  calico,  less  un- 
pleasant than  the  bed-ticking  dresses  of  the  Workhouse 
prisoners,  a  detachment  of  whom  are  working  here.  One 
little  woman,  walking  with  bent  head,  raises  it  suddenly  and 
emits  a  piercing  toot.  She  thinks  herself  a  steam  engine  and 
whistles  periodically,  to  the  rage  of  the  others,  who  recognize 
her  delusion  but  are  wholly  unconscious  of  their  own. 


DEATH    THE    BE8T    FRIEND. 


So  it  goes,  and  for  each  is  the  story  of  a  blighted  life  and 

often  the  ruin  of  other  lives  closely  bound  to  theirs.  It  is  a 
pauper  asylum,  and  fifty  years  ago  all  know  what  late  would 
have  been  theirs  and  in  some  remote  country  towns  is  still  the 
fate  of  one  so  afflicted.  Here,  in  spite  of  inevitable  overcrowd- 
ing and  of  a  thousand   difficulties,  all  that    science   can   do  is 


'],  .1.    j_.    ;.    !.    '■.     i?,-  }l  :%: 


:~~ :,,:-  '    ■ 


■afi 


TIIK    COXVTCTs     LOCK-STEP. 


done,  and  the  percentage  of  cures  is  a  steadily  increasing  one. 
But  for  most,  death  is  the  best  friend  ;  and  if  the  patient  waiter 
in  the  dead-house  rejoices  over  a  fresh  coffin  he  has  better  rea- 
son than  he  knows,  for  to  its  silent  occupant  no  other  release 
could  have  come. 

For  the  Penitentiary  the  story  has  practically  been  told  in 
that  of  the  Workhouse.  It  is  a  more  sombre  building,  has 
more  rigid  discipline,  heavier  labor,  a  more  disgraceful  uniform. 
It  is  the  convicts  who  have  built  the  heavy  sea  wall  about  the 
island  and  quarried  the  stone  for  most  of  the  buildings.     They 


380       MYSTERIOUS  COMMUNICATION  BETWEEN  PRISONERS. 

mend  and  repair  roads,  and  in  as  many  ways  as  possible  return 
a  portion  of  the  money  expended  in  providing  a  place  of 
punishment. 

The  prisoner  sent  up  to  fill  out  a  sentence  goes  through  the 
same  routine  as  all  who  enter  any  of  the  many  institutions  here. 
The  register  is  his  history  in  brief,  and,  like  the  portraits  of  the 
Rogues'  Gallery,  is  a  standing  menace  to  him.  Yet,  hard  as  is 
the  prisoner's  lot,  it  is  often  the  convict's  first  glimpse  of  regu- 
lar life  and  decent  food.  He  learns  a  trade,  perhaps,  —  for 
there  are  many  occupations  taught  under  the  prison  roof, — 
and  gains  an  appetite  for  the  coarse  but  sufficient  food.  There 
is  a  chapel  and  a  library,  and  all  the  alleviations  at  present 
allowed ;  for  a  more  humane  view  is  now  taken  of  the  prisoner 
and  his  fate  than  even  ten  years  ago.  Reformation  is  more 
and  more  the  thought,  and  the  convict  here  as  elsewhere  reaps 
the  benefit  of  the  new  view.  But  routine  necessarily  remains 
much  the  same.  The  long  day  of  labor  under  guard,  the  long 
night  after  the  hour  has  come  in  which  all  are  locked  in  their 
narrow  cells,  is  the  same  for  all.  There  is  stealthy  communi- 
cation, and  knowledge  of  each  other  that  would  amaze  the 
keepers,  who  suspect  but  can  seldom  detect  the  method.  Some 
learn  to  read,  and  spend  such  spare  time  as  is  theirs  in  reading, 
and  most  of  them  leave  the  prison  better  in  health  than  when 
they  entered  it. 

The  prison  has  its  own  special  staff  of  officers  from  warden 
to  doctors  and  chaplain,  its  infirmary,  and  all  the  many  out- 
buildings required  for  the  maintenance  of  fifteen  hundred  and 
more  prisoners.  But  its  story  is  the  story  of  all  prisons,  save 
the  one  or  two  fortunate  enough  to  have  at  their  head  men 
who  count  crime  chiefly  a  disease  and  proceed  to  cure  it. 

For  speculation  or  fact  as  to  this  theory  there  is  no  room 
here ;  but  it  is  certain  a  new  science  is  being  constructed,  and 
that  all  future  methods  with  crime  will  be  largely  colored  by 
it.  When  the  day  comes,  prevention  will  lead  instead  of  fol- 
low, and  we  may  believe  that  prison  walls  will  contract  rather 
than  broaden,  and  fewer  inmates  look  from  the  grated  windows 
of  the  place  of  punishment. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HEAVENLY  CHARITIES  —  SISTER  IRENES  MYSTERIOUS  BASKET 
—  HOMES  FOR  FOUNDLINGS  AND  LITTLE  WAIFS. 

Sister  Irene  —  A  Modern  Good  Samaritan  —  A  Mysterious  Little  Basket  —  Its 
First  Appearance—:"  What  Can  it  be  for  ?"  —  Its  First  Tiny  Occupant  — 
Crouching  in  the  Shadow  —  An  Agonizing  Parting  —  Babies  Abandoned 
on  the  Street  —  Broken-Hearted  Mothers  —  A  "Rent-Baby" — A  'Run- 
Around" —  How  Sister  Irene's  Basket  Grew  into  a  Six-Story  Building  — 
Fatherless  Children  —  Babies  of  all  Kinds  —  How  the  Record  of  each  Baby 
is  Kept  —  Curious  Requests  for  Children  lor  Adoption —  "  Wanted,  a  Nice 
Little  Red-Headed  Boy  "  —  An  Inquiry  for  a  Girl  with  a  "  Pretty  Nose" — 
"  Going  to  Meet  Papa  and  Mamma  "  —  The  Sunny  Side  of  the  Work  —  The 
Darker  Side  of  the  Picture  —  Pain  and  Suffering  —  Worn  Little  Faces  — 
The  Babies'  Hospital  —  Free  Cribs  for  Little  Sufferers. 

NEAR  Lexington  Avenue,  between  Sixty-eighth  and  Sixty- 
ninth  Streets,  stands  the  Xew  York  Foundling  Asylum, 
an  enormous  building  of  simplest  construction,  the  main  portion 
six  stories  high,  with  various  outgrowths,  which  on  examina- 
tion prove  to  be  hospitals  and  other  departments  connected 
with  the  institution.  Possibly  the  visitor  has  come  straight 
from  the  children  s  ward  in  St.  Luke's  Hospital,  witli  its  many 
free  beds  endowed  by  Sunday-school  classes,  or  by  some  mother 
in  memory  of  her  own  little  ones.  Seeing  the  perfect  care 
given  there,  one  cannot  but  wonder  how  it  fares  with  the 
myriad  other  babies,  who  must  be  part  of  the  misery  that 
abounds  in  the  swarming  tenement-houses  of  both  the  East  and 
West  Sides.  What  is  done  with  the  hundreds  upon  hundreds 
of  motherless  or  worse  than  motherless  little  ones  \ 

It  is  this  Asylum  which  affords  one  answer,  and  which 
twenty-five  years  ago  had  no  existence.  Popular  feeling  was 
strongly  against  foundling  asylums  of  any  order.  Their  need 
had  been  often  discussed  by  charitable  workers,  but  it  was  felt 
in  the  various  churches  to  which  such  work  was  lon£  confined 

(331) 


382 


sister  Irene's  mysterious  basket. 


that  if  crime  were  shielded  it  must  necessarily  increase.  Paris 
with  its  enormous  foundling  asylums  was  pointed  to  as  an 
illustration  of  all  we  should  most  wish  to  escape,  and  thus  little 
waifs  fared  as  they  could,  room  being  made  for  them  in  homes 
and  asylums  ill  adapted  to  such  use,  and  where  all  such  work 
was  carried  on  at  the  greatest  disadvantage. 

As  usual  in  these  cases,  a  woman  began  the  solution  of  the 
problem.  Its  ethical  bearings  did  not  enter  her  head.  She 
had  long  worked  among  the  poor.  She  knew  what  temptation 
meant,  and  Iioav  often  an  innocent  girl  betrayed  by  a  villain 

needed  the  support  denied  her  by 
the  Pharisee,  and  even  by  those  who 
wished  to  help  yet  feared  some  com- 
promising quality  in  the  act.  What 
thoughts  went  on  under  Sister  Irene's 
close  black  bonnet  she  does  not  tell. 
It  is  sufficient  to  our  purpose  that 
the  basket  was  bought,  and  that  on 
an  October  morning  in  1869, —  the 
rain  pouring  as  if  to  wash  out  any 
possible  stain  entailed  by  the  act, — 
the  people  in  Twelfth  Street  saw  in 
the  doorway  of  No.  17  a  curious 
little  basket  softly  lined,  and  for  a 
mysterious  purpose  which  nobody 
could  fathom.  Men  looked  at  it  as  they  went  to  business  and 
wondered  if  anybody  had  set  it  down  and  forgotten  to  take  it 
in.  It  was  still  there  Avhen  they  returned  home  at  night,  and 
a  light  gleamed  above  it,  but  its  purpose  was  no  plainer  than 
when  day  dawned  and  found  it  there. 

Far  into  the  night,  when  the  solitary  footsteps  of  an  occa- 
sional pedestrian  echoed  loudly  in  the  silent  street,  a  frightened 
woman  stole  toward  the  open  doorway,  casting  startled  looks 
around  and  behind  her,  and  after  long  crouching  in  the 
shadow  softly  crept  up  the  steps.  Something  held  close  in  her 
arms  went  with  her,  which  she  pressed  to  her  breast  again  and 
again,  and  then  with  a  burst  of  tears  she  laid  it  in  the  basket 


THE   MOTHER'S   LAST   KISS. 


w     AGONIZING    PARTING. 


:;>:; 


and  silently  hurried  down  the  steps.    Crouching  again  in  the 

friendly  shadow  she  waited,  her  face  turned  toward  the  door- 
way, till  a  baby's  wail  followed  by  a  sharp  little  cry  was 
heard,  and  she  half  sprung  up  and  stretched  her  arms  toward 

the  basket.  The  door  opened  even  as  the  cry  came.  A  wo- 
man with  a  calm,  gentle  face  stood  for  a  moment,  the  flood  of 


SISTER    IRENE'S    BASKET    AT    THE    ENTRANCE    TO    THE    NB"W    YORK    FOUNDLLNO 

ASYLUM. 

light  from  the  hall  bringing  out  every  line  of  face  and  figure, 
then  stooped  and  lifted  the  bundle  to  her  shoulder,  pressing 
the  little  face  close  to  her  own.  The  baby  nestled  to  her  as 
she  passed  into  the  hall ;  the  door  closed,  and  the  woman 
crouching  in  the  darkness  stole  away,  bearing  her  secret  with 
her.  Another  babe  was  found  on  the  stoop  during  the  night, 
in  spite  of  the  rain  that  was  falling  in  torrents.  The  next 
night  came  two  women,  each  with  her  burden,  which  was  laid 


384  A  HOME  FOR  LITTLE  WAIFS. 

in  the  basket,  and  twice  again  the  door  opened  and  the  black- 
robed  figure  responded  to  the  feeble  cry  that  had  only  to 
sound  to  be  heard.  Out  of  the  cold  and  dark,  into  warmth 
and  light  and  care,  went  each  helpless  tenant  of  the  waiting 
basket,  and  the  news  soon  went  out  that  here  no  questions 
were  asked,  no  demands  were  made,  but  help  and  comfort 
were  always  waiting.  Within  a  month  the  number  of  babies 
reached  forty-five  :  the  house  was  full. 

This  is  the  story  of  Sister  Irene's  little  house  on  Twelfth 
Street,  —  the  first  foundling  asylum  in  the  United  States. 
Never  was  anything  on  smaller  scale.  Often  she  rose  in  the 
morning  utterly  uncertain  as  to  where  the  day's  food  was  to 
come  from,  and  always  before  night  help  came  and  the  work 
went  on.  Doubt  as  one  might  the  wisdom  of  such  undertak- 
ing, there  were  the  babies  and  they  must  be  fed.  Ladies  sent 
in  food,  money,  and  bundles  of  little  garments,  often  from  the 
drawer  where  they  had  been  laid  with  tears,  as  the  bereaved 
mother  folded  them  away  in  memory  of  the  little  one  who  had 
put  on  angel  raiment.  These  bereaved  mothers  took  turns  at 
watching,  preparing  food,  and  all  the  thousand  cares  of  the 
nursery,  and  Sister  Irene  and  her  nuns  did  the  rest. 

Up  to  this  time  infanticide  had  been  common,  and  abandon- 
ment on  the  street  no  less  so.  Twenty  years  ago  scarcely  a 
morning  passed  without  its  being  recorded  in  the  daily  journals 
that  the  body  of  a  new-born  babe  had  been  found  floating  near 
the  docks,  buried  in  an  ash-barrel,  or  flung  into  some  lonely 
area.  Each  day  an  armful  of  little  unfortunates,  picked  up  by 
the  police  on  their  night  beats,  were  carried  to  the  Almshouse 
on  Black  well's  Island,  to  be  bottle-fed  by  the  aged  paupers, 
rarely  surviving  their  infancy.  There  was  no  place  for  these 
little  waifs  in  charitable  institutions,  for  the  charters  did  not 
admit  them ;  and  even  now,  with  a  place  offering  itself,  it  was 
doubtful  if  it  must  not  depend  upon  private  charity  for  support. 
The  matter  came  up  for  consideration,  and  the  city  fathers 
finally  settled  to  pay  a  trifling  amount  per  head  for  the  babies' 
support. 

This  was  the  beginning,  and  during  the  twenty  years  that 


RENT-BABIES       AND    "  RUN-AROl  M  >-. 


:js5 


have  gone  by  since  Sister  [rene  lifted  the  first  tiny  occupant  of 
the  basket  to  the  motherly  breast  that  lias  never  known 
motherhood,  over  twenty-two  thousand  babies  have  been 
cared  for  by  her  and  her  helpers.  Long  ago  the  Twelfth  Street 
home  proved  utterly  inadequate,  and  the  great  building  on  Lex- 
ington Avenue  received  them,  to  become  in  turn  all  too  small 
for  the  crowds  that  apply.  The 
main  building  now  accommodates 
six  hundred  babies  and  three  hun- 
dred mothers,  and  besides  these, 
twelve  hundred  are  put  out  to 
nurse.  In  any  poor  family  where 
a  baby  has  died,  the  mother  can 
take  one  of  these  little  waifs,  pro- 
vided the  doctor  gives  a  certificate 
that  the  applicant  is  responsible 
and  in  fair  health.  For  this  the 
city  pays  ten  dollars  a  month,  but 
the  woman  must  bring  the  child 
to  the  Asylum  once  a  month  on 
the  pay  day  fixed,  where  it  is  inspected  by  the  Sisters  before  she 
receives  her  wage. 

Picture  a  helpless  babe,  a  day  or  two  old,  either  laid  reluc- 
tantly in  the  crib  by  a  poor  broken-hearted  mother,  or  aban- 
doned pitilessly  under  cover  of  night  on  the  steps  or  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Asylum.  A  little  one  entering  is  first 
registered,  receiving  a  name  and  number,  and  is  then  tem- 
porarily placed  in  one  of  the  nurseries.  In  a  few  days  it  is 
confided  to  a  nurse  in  the  outside  department.  Within  a  week 
her  home  is  visited  by  the  Asylum  detective,  to  gain  positive 
assurance  that  she  is  worthy  of  the  trust.  For  the  next  three 
years  the  foundling  is  a  member  of  its  foster-mother's  family 
and  is  known  as  a  "  rent-baby."  Once  a  month,  on  pay-day, 
she  takes  it  to  the  Asylum  for  inspection,  and  if  sick  it  must  be 
carried  there  for  treatment.  Time  passes  on,  the  baby  has  be- 
come a  "  run-around  "  and  is  recalled  to  the  Asylum.  This 
time  there  are  bitter  tears  shed  over  the  foundling  by  the  fos- 


FOSTER   MOTITERS. 


386 


A  HOMELESS  MOTHER'S   PLEA. 


ter-mother,  who  declares  that  the  little  stranger  brought  a 
blessing  upon  her  home.  If  it  is  ill,  it  is  taken  in  at  the 
hospital  for  treatment,  and  here  its  troubles  often  end. 
But  the  percentage  of  deaths  is  less  than  would  be  expected, 
and  of  all  the  mothers  who  serve  as  deputies  the  majority  give 
good  care  and  often  grow  so  attached  to  their  little  charges 
that  adoption  follows. 

Shortly  after  the  opening  of  the  Asylum,  a  second  branch 
of  work,  until  then  uncontemplated,  forced  itself  upon  the  Sis- 
ters' attention. 
One  day  a 
young  woman 
came  with  her 
baby,  and 
pleaded  not  to 
leave  it,  but 
to  be  received 
into  the  house 
with  it.  As 
provision  had 
been  made  for 
foundlings  on- 
ly, she  was  re- 
fused. A  few 
hours  later  the 

woman  returned  and  renewed  her  entreaties,  saying  her  friends 
had  cast  her  off  —  she  had  no  shelter  for  the  night  —  might  she 
not  remain  with  her  child?  Money  was  given  her  for  her 
present  need,  but  once  more  she  was  refused  admission.  In  the 
evening  she  came  again,  and  said  there  was  but  one  alterna- 
tive —  if  the  Sisters  would  not  consent  to  take  her  she  would 
go  and  destroy  herself  —  if  they  allowed  her  to  stay  with  her 
child,  she  would  work  for  them  and  nurse  another  baby  with 
her  own.  These  last  words  were  a  revelation,  for  painful  expe- 
rience had  taught  that,  with  the  most  unwearied  care  and  vigi- 
lance, it  was  almost  impossible  to  raise  a  number  of  infants  by 
hand ;  the  babies  would  gain  by  this  extension  of  the  work,  as 


THE  CHILDREN  S  CLOTHES  ROOM. 


THE   OUTGROWTH   OF   THE   LITTLE    BASKET. 


387 


well  as  the  poor  homeless  mothers.     The  girl,  by  her  importu- 
nity, had  opened  a  refuge  for  thousands  who,  since  then,  have 

sought  the  shelter  of  the  Asylum. 

It  is  a  noteworthy  fact  that,  of  the  many  nationalities  rep- 
resented—  Irish,  French,  Gorman,  and  Italian,  -it  is  the  Ital- 
ian mothers  who  bring  hack  the  healthiest-looking  babies,  and 


ONE   OF   THE    NURSERY    WARDS. 

under  whose  nursing  the  weaklings  soonest  begin  to  thrive. 
They  "mother"  them  like  their  own.  and  it  is  mothering,  or 
the  want  of  it,  that  means  life  or  death  to  the  waifs  that,  save 
for  happy  chance,  will  never  know  the  portion  of  real  child- 
hood. 

In  the  great  Asylum  on  Lexington  Avenue  —  the  outgrowth 
of  Sister  Irene's  little  basket  —  she  still  rules.  The  face  is 
more  than  twenty  years  older  than  on  that  stormy  night  in 
which  her  basket  held  its  first  tenant,  but  it  is  even  more  peace- 
ful and  bright.  Her  shoulders  are  bowed;  her  day  of  work 
near  its  ending,  but  she  cannot  enter  a  ward  but  that  the  child- 
ren tumble  over  each  other  in  their  eagerness  to  even  touch 


388  HAPPY   CHILDREN   OF   MISFORTUNE. 

her  ;  and  her  pride  in  them  is  something  beautiful  to  see.  As 
she  pauses  to  admire  the  delicate  skin  of  one,  the  bright  eyes  of 
another,  the  larger  babies  quarrel  as  to  which  shall  open  the 
door  for  her,  or  rejoice  as  she  singles  out  one  for  special  atten- 
tion. They  learn  rhymes  to  please  her.  They  even  make  no 
protest  against  that  sorest  of  childhood's  trials,  face-washing, 
if  it  is  to  make  ready  for  Sister  Irene's  coming,  and  a  forest  of 
small  hands  wave  a  parting  greeting  as  she  passes  through  the 
open  door. 

There  is  another  reminder  of  her  beginning  of  this  benefi- 
cent work.  In  the  marble  corridors  of  the  great  building  hang 
pictures  of  saints  and  children,  each  one  a  gift,  and  each  with 
its  special  significance.  In  the  vestibule  there  is  no  longer  a 
basket,  but  a  bassinet  with  its  pretty  canopy  of  pink  and  white, 
and  it  knows  as  many  pitiful  stories  as  the  old  receptacle  which 
it  long  ago  replaced. 

In  the  long  wards  with  their  white-canopied  cribs  one  sees 
white-capped  nurses  caring  for  their  small  charges  as  diligently 
as  if  it  were  their  sole  thought  in  life.  It  is  hard  to  believe 
that  they  are  themselves  on  probation,  proving  here  their  re- 
pentance and  desire  for  a  better  life.  Two  or  three  Sisters 
are  always  with  the  babies,  and  the  larger  children  follow  them 
about  or  are  busy  with  the  bright  papers  and  toys  of  the  Kin- 
dergarten. 

There  are  two  Kindergarten  classes,  each  numbering  about 
fifty.  A  more  charming  sight  can  hardly  be  imagined  than 
that  presented  by  these  children  of  misfortune,  laughing  and 
singing  at  their  games,  or  grasping  in  their  tiny  fingers  the 
various  Kindergarten  gifts.  The  least  observant  visitor,  on  be- 
holding the  large  assemblage  of  older  children  in  the  full  tide 
of  enjoyment  and  happiness,  would  quite  forget  the  sad  page 
in  their  history.  They  are  not  in  uniform,  —  that  depressing 
fact  of  most  asylums.  On  the  contrary  each  child  seems  to 
wear  a  different  color,  and  the  pretty  locks  of  all  are  "  banged  " 
and  tied  with  bright  ribbons  as  carefully  as  if  a  mother's  hand 
had  done  it. 

One  fact  might  well  be  dwelt  upon  by  all  mothers.     These 


BED    HE  \l'l.l>    BOYS    I N   DEMAND. 


380 


twelve  hundred  and  more  babies  have  the  purest  complexions, 

the  result  of  the  absolute  regularity  with  which  they  are  fed 
and  cared  for.  No  food  is  allowed  between  meals,  hut  not  one 
of  them  goes  hungry,  and  the  majority  have  a  contented  and 
comfortable  look.  All  nationalities  are  here,  and  every  shade 
of  coloring  and  every  type  of  feature,  and  often  a  beauty  of 
both  feature  and  expression  that  wins  all  hearts  at  once. 

At  three 
years  old  a  ba- 
by's life  under 
Sister  Irene's 
roof  must  end. 
Up  to  that  age 
the  mother 
may  claim  it  if 
she  will.  After 
that  it  can  be 
legally  adopt- 
ed by  any  one, 
though    under 

the   charge  01  THK  rLAY  room. 

the  Sisters  till 

its  majority.  It  has  been  deemed  best  to  find  homes  for  them 
outside  the  city,  and  an  agent  visits  the  parties  applying  for 
children  to  adopt,  and  travels  in  the  West  securing  homes. 
The  number  of  applications  is  large,  and  they  are  of  all 
orders.     One  writes  :  — 

"We  want  a  nice  little  red-headed  boy.  I  have  a  red- 
haired  wife  and  five  red-headed  little  girls,  and  we  want  a  boy 
to  match." 

Another,  in  an  order  for  a  little  brown-haired  and  blue-eyed 
girl,  adds:  "  She  must  have  a  pretty  nose,"  while  another 
writes,  "  Send  us  a  smart,  stout,  saucy  boy  of  six.  Irish  parents." 

Good  tidings  come  from  the  West  concerning  the  little 
ones  who  have  been  sent  out  to  brighten  childless  homes. 
Some  are  declared  to  be  "the  sweetest  and  dearest  little 
children  in  the  world,"  others  are  "the  smartest  in  the  school," 


390 


THE   SORROW   OF   PARTING. 


and  one  and  all  of  the  adopted  parents  express  in  different 
ways  the  same  sentiment,  —  that  they  could  not  possibly  get 
on  without  them.  Many  persons  who  have  seen  them  in  the 
care  of  others  desire  to  obtain  similar  treasures  for  themselves, 
and  the  agent,  during  his  Western  tours  of  inspection,  has 
little  difficulty  in  selecting  homes  for  a  band  of  forty  or  fifty. 
And  then  comes  the  excitement  of  departure.     The  children 

all  animation 
and  eagerness 
at  the  thought 
of  the  dear 
''papas  and 
mammas"  who 
are  at  last 
sending  for 
them,  assemble 
in  the  "play- 
room" to  be 
prepared  for 
their  journey. 
They  are  dress- 
ed  in  their 
neat,  warm 
cloaks  and 
pretty  hoods 

by  those  who  have  been  to  them  as  loving  mothers,  and  who 
could  scarcely  bear  to  send  them  forth  to  an  unknown  future  but 
for  their  confidence  in  Him  who  has  promised  "I  will  never 
leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee."  The  roll  is  called,  to  make  sure  that 
all  appointed  for  the  journey  are  at  hand,  and  then,  accom- 
panied by  several  Sisters,  the  little  ones  are  placed  in  the 
stages  that  are  to  convey  them  to  the  station.  The  novelty  of 
the  ride  and  the  bustle  of  the  depot  interest  and  amuse  them, 
and  it  is  only  when  they  are  settled  in  the  car  that  is  to  take 
them  to  their  destination,  and  the  Sisters  turn  to  leave  them, 
that  they  realize  the  parting  from  their  first  friends,  and  the 
journey  is  begun  amid  sobs  and  tears.     But  childish  griefs  are 


THE   KINDERGARTEN. 


GOING   TO   MEET    "  PAPA    AND   MAMMA."  391 

short-lived,  and  by  the  time  the  "West  is  reached  bright  little 
faces  are  peeping  out  anxious  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of 
those  who  are  eagerly  awaiting  them. 

As  far  as  could  be  expected  they  have  met  witli  parental 
care  and  love,  and  in  their  innocence  fondly  imagine  that  they 
have  found  their  lost  father  and  mother.  It  is  inosi  affecting 
to  behold  a  little  troop  starting  for  these  far-off  homes.  In 
response  to  the  question,  " Little  one,  where  are  you  going?" 
the  reply  invariably  comes,  k,To  my  papa  and  mamma." 

.Many  of  them  regularly  correspond  with  Sister  Irene. 
One  recently  wrote:  — 

'•  Dear  Sister  :  — 

"  I  suppose  you  are  well,  and  I  would  like  to  hear  from  you.  I  am  getting 
a  big  boy  now,  and  I  am  nine  years  old.  I  am  getting  along  in  my  books 
very  well.     Tell  Mr.  Hughes  to  send  me  that  goat. 

"  I  have  a  sloop  and  she  got  frozen  in  the  ice,  and  I  could  not  hardly  get 
her  out.  Good-by." 

Another  wrote :  — 

Dear  Sister  :  — 

I  thought  I  would  write  to  you  and  send  my  report,  so  that  you  can  see 
how  I  am  getting  along  in  my  lessons.  I  got  the  prize  last  month  for  taking 
the  highest  per  cent,  in  spelling.  I  am  beginning  to  save  my  money,  and  I 
have  forty-four  cents.  I  have  had  a  real  nice  time  this  winter,  slidiug  on  my 
sled.  I  am  well,  and  so  is  mamma.  Good-bye.  Mamma  and  I  send  love  to 
you.  Your  little  boy, 

F . 

Some  of  the  children  first  sent  out  have  already  reached 
maturity  and  have  chosen  a  calling ;  some  are  happily  married, 
and  often  write  letters  showing  how  gratefully  and  affection- 
ately they  remember  those  who  protected  them  in  infancy. 

This  is  the  sunny  side  of  the  work.  There  is  another,  —  the 
hospital,  its  wards  filled  with  disease,  deformity,  and  suffering, 
the  penalty  of  the  parents'  sins.  Here  are  the  incurables,  some 
of  whom  will  linger  in  pain  and  suffering  year  after  year  ;  but 
many  will  soon  escape  to  the  happier  country,  where  they  shall 
no  more  say,  "  I  am  sick."  The  little  faces,  worn  and  spiritual- 
ized by  suffering,  are  still  cheerful.  Every  possible  alleviation 
is  there,  but  pain  rules  and  must  rule  in  the  tortured  little  bod- 


392 


THE   BABIES'    HOSPITAL. 


ies  which  have  never  known  any  other  life  but  suffering.  Be- 
yond these  wards  is  the  quarantine,  connected  with  the  other 
buildings  by  iron  bridges,  by  means  of  which  little  patients  sick 
with  any  contagious  disease  can  be  conveyed  there  without 
going  through  the  other  buildings.  To  meet  the  total  expenses 
of  this  great  work  nearly  $275,000  a  year  are 
required,  and  voluntary  contributions  are  de- 
pended upon  to  a  considerable  extent. 

This  Foundling  Asylum  is  a  t}Tpe  of  the 
many  Homes  which  year  by  year  have  grown 
up  for  children,  fifteen  thousand  of  whom 
are  now  the  charge  of  city  or  private  charity. 
There  are  orphan  aslyums  of  every  order, 
white  and  colored,  Catholic  and  Protestant. 
Every  hospital  has  its  "children's  ward," 
and  there  are  special  ones  for  every  form  of 
disease.  Near  Sister  Irene's  Home  is  a  new 
venture  hardly  five  years  in  existence,  but 
of  equal  helpfulness  in  its  way.  It  is  only 
one  large  house,  known  as  the  "  Babies'  Hos- 
pital" and  capable  at  its  utmost  of  holding 
not  over  forty  babies.  It  is  for  the  sick,  not 
for  the  well,  and  gives  summer  outings  for 
the  severest  cases.  None  are  turned  away, 
not  even  the  dying,  and  these  come  oftener 
than  might  be  supposed,  since  hard-working 
foundlings' bank  at  mothers  cannot  or  do  not  stop  till  the.  last 
moment  to  attend  to  a  baby,  sick  or  well. 
Contagious  diseases  are  excluded,  but  every- 
thing else  is  undertaken  and  sooner  or  later  finds  its  wav  here. 
Every  police  station,  all  the  charitable  associations,  all  the  mis- 
sion-rooms, have  been  notified  that  here  is  a  refuge  for  all  sick 
children.  Mothers  are  suspicious  of  hospitals,  and  believe  them 
places  built  for  experiment  upon  the  poor ;  but  the  mother  who 
has  once  had  her  baby  under  treatment  here  persuades  all  she 
knows  to  try  it  for  their  own. 

There  are  a  number  of  free  cribs.     It  costs  three  thousand 


ENTRANCE  TO  MAIN 
STAIRCASE. 


BOW    THE   BABIES    ARE    FED. 


303 


dollars  to  endow  a  crib  for  one's  lifetime,  and  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  to  maintain  it  for  a  year.  The  children  of  Elbe- 
ron,  where  President  Garfield  died,  pay  this  sum  yearly  for  a 

crib  over  which  their  name  hangs,  and  there  is  one  crib  for 
which  a  wealthy  mother  gave  five  thousand  dollars,  thus  en- 
dowing it  forever. 

Ileiv.  as   in   many  children's 
wards  in  hospitals,  the  real  diffi- 


IX    TIIE    CIIITDREX  S   DORMITORY    AT    SISTER    IRENE  S. 

culty  is  often  found  to  be  that  the  babies  have  never  been 
properly  fed,  and  a  week  or  two  of  good  food  cures  the  sup- 
posed disease.  The  most  interesting  spot  in  this  hospital  after 
the  babies  themselves,  each  in  its  crib  with  white  coverlet,  warm 
blanket,  and  pretty  blue,  pink,  or  lilac  "puff,"  tufted  with 
knots  of  gay  worsted,  is  the  kitchen  where  all  their  food  is 
prepared.  Here  stand  the  great  cans  of  milk,  bottles  of  baby- 
food,  beef-juice,  and  all  that  baby  needs  require.  Beyond  is 
the  "  cold  room,"  and  in  it  stands  a  great  case  similar  to  a  row 
of  post-office  boxes,  one  for  each  baby  and  labeled  with  its 
name.     In  it  is  placed  daily  the  food  it  is  to  have,  chosen  after 


394  HOMELESS  LITTLE  ONES. 

the  doctor's  prescription,  and  in  bottles  stopped  with  the  latest 
discovery,  —  baked  cotton  batting.  Germs  of  disease  being  a 
part  of  the  air  one  must  breathe  in  cities,  or  indeed  anywhere 
save  on  mountain  tops,  it  becomes  specially  necessary  to  guard 
against  them  in  a  hospital;  and  it  has  been  found  that  they 
cannot  penetrate  through  baked  cotton  batting.     So  baked  it 


THE   LITTLE   WAIFS'   EVENING    PRAYER. 

is,  and  these  babies  have  purer  food  than  often  falls  to  the  lot 
of  most  Fifth  Avenue  children. 

There  is  one  scene  that  nightly  appeals  to  those  in  charge 
of  the  homeless  little  ones  at  the  Five  Points  House  of  Indus- 
try. It  is  repeated  at  other  points  of  the  great  city ;  wherever, 
indeed,  rise  the  walls  of  a  child's  asylum  or  protectory,  but 
here  in  this  first  and  oldest  of  all  aids  for  the  helpless  ones,  it 
seems  to  have  special  significance  and  most  touching  appeal. 


r 


3>   *   £ 

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si  ill 


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B 

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1  ?  a 

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Z 

?H         a^i  ~ 

3D  S*3 

— i  c  c     - 


397 

Round  about  the  great  room  with  its  rows  of  little  iron  rots 
ered  with  snowy  white  spreads  —  the  only  home  these  tiny 
waifs  have  ever  known  —  kneel  the  babies  of  three  years  and 
upwards.  With  folded  hands,  eyes  tight  shut,  or  opening  for  a 
moment's  survey  of  the  others,  the  little  lips  repeat  in  unison 
the  prayer  that  happy  mothers  in  many  a  home  bend  to  hear : 

"Xow  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep." 

Be  sure  that  it  is  heard,  and  that  for  each  and  all  of  these 
little  ones,  there  is  watch  and  ward  in  that  Kingdom,  where 
none  may  enter  save  as  they  become  as  little  children. 

The  new  Training  School  for  children's  nurses,  which  is  in- 
tended to  give  thorough  training  to  all  who  are  to  have  the 
care  of  young  children,  has  four  of  its  students  on  duty  here 
through  the  day.  and  they  may  even  serve  a  term  as  regular 
nurses  after  their  two  years'  course  is  over.  For  this  and  all 
the  other  hospitals  for  children  is  a  type  of  care  impossible 
even  a  lew  years  ago.  The  standard  has  risen,  year  by  year, 
till  now  every  appliance  of  science  is  brought  to  bear,  —  even 
the  hospital  for  incurables  furnishing  its  quota  of  experience 
and  suggestion- 
There  are  many  institutions  devoted  to  this  heavenly 
charity.  The  two  I  have  imperfectly  described  are  typical 
forms  in  which  the  passion  for  helpfulness  and  the  saving  of 
life  find  marked  expression.  But  the  city  has  other  charities 
no  less  worthy,  and  the  story  of  any  one  told  in  full  would 
make  a  volume,  each  page  of  which  might  well,  if  praise  were 
in  question,  be  printed  in  letters  of  gold,  and  bound  like  the 
beautiful  missals  of  old,  in  vellum,  jewel  set.  and  with  all  rare 
and  costly  work  of  monkish  pens  and  gravers. 


'--- 


CHAPTEK  XX. 

ITALIAN  LIFE  IN   NEW  YORK  —  SCENES  IN  THE   GREAT  BEND 
IN  MULBERRY  STREET  —  HOMES  OF  FILTH  AND  SQUALOR. 

The  Home  of  the  Organ-Grinder  and  his  Monkey  —  Italian  Child  Slavery  — 
Begging,  or  Honest  Occupation  —  Grinding  Poverty  —  An  Italian's  First 
View  of  New  York  —  Flashing  Eyes  and  Gay-Colored  Raiment  —  Fatalists 

—  The  Great  Bend  in  Mulberry  Street  — Mouldy  Bread  and  Skinny  Poultry 

—  Tainted  Meat  and  Ancient  Fish — Unbearable  Odors  —  Rotten  Vegeta- 
bles and  Rancid  Butter  —  Strong  Flavors  in  Cooking  —  The  Beehive  — 
Bones,  Garbage,  and  Rags  —  Squalid  and  Filthy  Homes  —  Swarming  in 
Great  Tenement  Houses  —  Maccaroni  and  Oil  —  The  Monkey-Trainer  — 
Rag-Pickers  in  Cellars  and  Basements  —  How  the  Italians  Live  —  Smashed 
Eggs  by"  the  Spoonful —  "  Little  Italy." 


lf£» 


/ 


CURBSTONE   GOSSIP   IN  MULBERRY   STREET. 


^TJLLY  a  generation 
ago   the   children 

who  watched  from  Nev> 
j|  York  windows  for  the 
organ-grinder  and  his 
|  monkey,  or  those  more 
adventurous  ones  who 
followed  his  devious 
way  as  far  as  they 
dared,  looked  with  won- 
dering eyes  at  the  mon- 
key's close  companion, 
—  a  child,  and  some- 
times more  than  one, 
dark-eyed,  low-browed 
and  swarthy,  with  flash- 
ing white  teeth  that 
gleamed  out  at  the  least 
kindness,   and  a   grace 

(398) 


CHILDREN     IIKLD    IN     BONDAGE. 


399 


and  suppleness  of  movement  born  under  other  than  American 

skies.  For  the  most  part  they  were  melancholy  little  crea- 
tures, and  they  had  good  reason.  Their  inability  to  speak 
English,  and  their  terror  at  the  conditions  that  surrounded 
them,  sealed  their  lips;  nor  did  the  public  awaken  to  the  out- 
rages  committed  upon  them  till  roused  by  the  indignation  of 
the  few  who  had  investigated  the  matter  to  the  bottom,  and 
knew  whereof  they  spoke. 


SIDEWALK   PEASE   SELLER,    MULBERRY   STREET. 

It  was  the  Children's  Aid  Society  that  first  sounded  an 
alarm  and  sought  some  means  of  relief  for  the  abominations  of 
the  padrone  system.  This  meant  a  formal  traffic  hardly  less 
well  organized  than  the  old  slave  s}Tstem,  by  means  of  which 
Italian  children  were  hired  from  parents  or  friends  at  home  or 
came  here  with  them  to  follow  organ-grinders  and  beg.  Every 
child  was  compelled  to  bring  home  a  fixed  sum  daily.     If  it 


400  THE   ORGAN-GRINDER  AND   HIS  TRADE. 

was  exceeded,  good.  If  it  fell  below  the  standard,  beating  and 
starvation  were  the  penalties.  Children  died  of  want,  cold, 
and  privation,  nor  was  there  any  hope  of  betterment  till  the 
first  school  for  Italians  was  opened  and  fought  its  way  to 
recognition  and  final  success. 

The  organ-grinder  was  once  an  emblem  of  our  idea  of 
Italian  life  and  the  recipient  of  all  the  scorn  that  busy,  practi- 
cal America  has  for  this  pursuit.  It  has  gradually  dawned 
upon  us,  however,  that  a  man  need  not  necessarily  be  a 
beggar  who  adopts  organ-grinding  as  his  occupation,  and  that 
he  may  even  lead  a  more  wholesome  and  broader  life  than  that 
of  the  shoemaker  at  his  bench  or  the  toiler  in  the  factory  or 
mine.  Often,  it  is  true,  the  Italian  organ-grinder  represented 
the  worst  order  of  his  countrymen.  He  was  the  forerunner 
of  the  tide  of  emigration  from  Italy  that  from  that  day  to  this 
has  set  steadily  toward  our  shores,  a  constantly  increasing 
army  of  Italians  young  and  old,  drawn  from  the  poorer  and 
often  from  the  most  vicious  classes. 

The  New  York  Italian  colony  now  numbers  over  seventy 
thousand  souls  and  is  still  increasing.  It  is  chiefly  the  laboring 
class  who  come,  and  they  have  proved  efficient  and  patient 
Avorkers  at  railroad  construction  and  innumerable  other  forms 
of  manual  labor.  Aside  from  this  is  a  proportion  —  and  a  con- 
stantly increasing  one — of  professional  men  and  merchants. 
Ninety-five  per  cent,  of  all  who  arrive  become  American  citi- 
zens, and  thirty  per  cent,  remain  in  New  York  or  its  immediate 
vicinity. 

It  was  the  organ-grinder  who  first  carried  back  the  tale  of 
what  might  be  done  in  the  new  country,  and  stirred  uneasy 
longings.  Often  there  was  no  capital  available  for  the  listen- 
ing peasant  save  that  in  Tessa's  heavy  gold  beads,  but  she  sold 
them  willingly  for  passage-money,  firm  in  the  faith  that  better 
ones  would  soon  take  their  place.  If  they  owned  a  little  patch 
of  land  it  was  sold  or  sometimes  leased,  and  the  two  turned 
their  faces  westward.  One  may  see  the  tyipe  to-day :  Giovanni 
in  leggins,  broad  hat,  and  blue  jacket,  and  Tessa  with  her  heavy 
braids  and  gay  flowered  shawl  just  landed  at  Castle  Garden, 


ITALIAN    TRAITS    AND    HABITS. 


4()1 


and  looking  with  serious  at  the  new  surroundings.     The 

Elevated  Road  is  the  first  amazement,  and  a  terror  as  well,  till 
custom  has  dulled  the  first  shock  at  seeing  trains  in  the  air; 
but  for  the  first  few  days  all  is  wonder. 

From  whatever 
part  of  Italy  they 
come,  they  bring 
alike  the  melan- 
choly faces  that 
are  part  of  the  Ital- 
ian inheritance. 
Thev  are  fatalists. 
Long  oppression, 
unending  hard 
work,  and  grind- 
ing poverty,  have 
all  left  their  lines. 
We  think  of  all 
Italians  as  happy, 
easy-natured  do- 
nothings,  and  for 
Naples  and  much 
of  southern  Italy 
this  is  in  part  true. 
But  northern  Ital- 
ians have  m  u  c  h 
in  common  with 
New  Englanders.  They  are  abstinent,  frugal,  hard-working, 
and  patient,  but  a  little  prosperity  soon  alters  the  expression 
and  brings  out  the  underlying  type. 

Let  us  begin  with  the  lowest  order,  the  dealer  in  fruit  and 
vegetables,  or  the  rag-picker,  who  gravitates  at  once  to  the 
region  given  over  to  his  people.  Here  one  finds  them  swarm- 
ing in  the  great  tenement-houses,  grouping  on  doorsteps  and 
sidewalks,  and  forming,  with  their  vivid  coloring,  their  flashing 
eyes,  and  gay-colored  raiment,  one  of  the  most  picturesque 
scenes  New  York  has  to  offer.     Do  they  herd  together  i     Yes, 


CURBSTONE   BEANS   SELLER,     MULBERRY   STREET. 


402 


MACARONI  AND   OIL  VS.   BREAD. 


but  no  more  or  perhaps  less  than  at  home,  as  any  one  who  has 
been  in  Genoa  for  instance,  and  watched  the  stream  of  human- 
ity pouring  out  from  the  tall  old  houses  of  the  Carmagiano  dis- 
trict, can  testify.  They  were  not  paupers  even  there,  though 
many  affirm  that  whoever  prefers  macaroni  and  oil  to  baker's 


m 


PUSH-CART   BRIGADE   IN   THE   GREAT   BEND,    MULBERRY   STREET. 

bread  must  be  near  that  condition.  But  they  live  on  what  an 
American  would  find  impossible,  and  thus  lay  up  money  even 
when  earnings  are  scantiest. 

Take  the  Great  Bend  in  Mulberry  Street  on  a  Saturday 
morning, —  a  spot  as  utterly  un-American  as  anything  in  New 
York.  The  open-air  market  is  going  on,  and  trucks  and  bar- 
rows of  every  description  line  the  sidewalk.  A  never-ending 
throng,  through  which  one  can  barely  make  way,  fills  every 
available  foot  of  walk.  Tainted  meat ;  poultry  blue  with  age 
and  skinny  beyond  belief :  vegetables  in  every  stage  of  wilted- 


S(   i:\KS    IN     Till';    (iREAT    REND. 


403 


ness;  fruit  half  rotten  or  mouldy;    butter  so  rancid  that  it 
poisons  the  air;  eggs  broken  in  transit,  sold  by  the  Bpoonful 

for  omelets ;  fish  that  Long  ago  left  the  water,  all  contribute 
their  share  to  the  unbearable  odor  that  even  in  the  open  air 
proves  almost  too  much  for  endurance.  Over  and  over  again 
the  Board  of  Health  officers  have  swooped  down  on  the  Bend 
and  dumped  the  contents  of  the  entire  market  into  the  river, 
but  they  cannot 
always  be  at  hand, 
and  so  buying  and 
selling  goes  on. 

Great  sacks  lie 
along  the  walk ; 
they  hold  bread, 
the  rejected  stock 
of  the  down-town 
baker,  who  allows 
it  to  accumulate1 
till  hard,  dry.  or 
mouldy,  according 
to  the  weather  and 
the  place  of  stor- 
age. It  is  sold  at 
so  much  a  sackful, 
and  the  inhabitants  of  the  Bend  walk  away  with  their  selec- 
tions as  content,  apparently,  as  if  it  had  come  fresh  from  the 
oven.  At  one  point  sits  an  old  woman,  wrinkled  and  skinny 
as  her  stock  in  trade,  and  holds  out  a  starved,  little  turkey 
as  customers  pause  for  consideration. 

"  U?ia  hella  -pollina  ;  a  beautiful  hen  turkey,"  she  cries,  with 
a  thousand  adjectives  expressive  of  the  fine  qualities  of  this 
desirable  investment,  and  presently  a  young  woman,  after  a 
fierce  course  of  bargaining  accompanied  with  wild  gestures  that 
seem  to  point  to  nothing  less  than  bloodshed,  counts  out  the 
price,  grasps  her  prize,  and  moves  on  smilingly.  Buyer  and 
seller  vociferate  and  oTimace,  and  he  or  she  who  can  talk  long- 
est  and  loudest  wins  in  the  end.     The  piles  of  unwholesomeness 


SIDEWALK   BREAD    SELLER — MULBERRY    STREET. 


404 


UNSAVORY  FOOD  AND  STRONG  HERBS. 


and  actual  disease  rapidly  diminish,  even  sometimes  disappear 
altogether,  before  the  crowd  of  eager  buyers,  and  the  throng 
lessens.  It  is  the  Sunday's  supply,  and  presently  there  will  be 
a  smell  of  cooking,  and  herbs  and  oil  will  destroy  rankness  and 
make  of  the  unsavory  ingredients  a  meal  which  the  purchasers 
will  count  festivity. 


CURBSTONE   VEGETABLE   VENDER,    MULBERRY    STREET. 

The  homes  in  these  houses  are  of  all  orders ;  some  squalid 
and  filthy,  others  clean  and  bright,  with  red  and  blue  saints  on 
the  walls  and  gay  patchwork  quilts  on  the  bed.  They  all  love 
lilacs, —  a  reminder  to  them  of  the  orange  blossoms  of  their 
sunny  native  land ;  and  in  the  season  one  may  see  many  a 
bunch  placed  on  a  little  shelf  or  bracket  before  the  patron 
saint.  The  organ-grinder  may  even  bring  home  a  bunch  on 
his  return  from  a  round.  He  loves  flowers  also,  and  delights 
in  bringing  them  back  to  the  children. 

Down  on  Baxter  Street  is  a  cluster  of  eight  houses  known 


THE   MONKEY   TRAINER  8    BBADQUARTBRS. 


m 


as  the  Beehive,  and  here  is  a  man  who  is  organ-renter  and 
clock-seller,  the  business  managed  in  part  by  liis  wife.     The 

organ-grinder  seldom  owns  his  (organ  and  hardly  ever  his  mon- 

©      ©  I 

key.  This  same  Beehive  has  another  tenant  who  trains  mon- 
keys, and  one  who  has  long-  been  organ-mender.  The  double 
house  close  at  hand  swarms  with  Neapolitans,  who  are  chiefly 


ITALIAN    BAG-PICKERS     SETTLEMENT    IN    AN    ALLEY   OFF    MULBERRY   STREET. 

organ-grinders  and  fruit-sellers,  and  here  is  a  monkey -trainer 
who  for  a  small  consideration  will  show  his  pets.  A  well- 
trained  organ  monkey  is  worth  from  twelve  to  twenty  dollars, 
and  the  trainer  works  patiently  to  give  them  the  necessary 
accomplishments, —  bowing,  holding  out  the  cap  for  money, 
and  so  forth.  They  are  taught  to  obey  the  word  of  command 
in  both  Italian  and  English,  the  whip  being  employed  as  argu- 
ment, but  as  little  as  possible.  A  dozen  solemn-eyed  monkeys 
were  in  the  cage  when  I  called  upon  them,  and  the  youngest,  a 
mere  baby  of  a  monkey,  screamed  for  joy  as  the  door  was 
opened  and  he  was  allowed  to  come  out  for  a  little.     He  was 


406  RAG  PICKERS'   HOMES  AND  HAUNTS. 

but  half,  trained.  The  others  watched  the  master's  eye,  and 
chattered  comments  among  themselves,  while  a  child  stood 
gravely  by,  watching  their  antics. 

This  is  the  region  of  rag-pickers,  and  in  cellars,  basements, 
and  alleys,  as  well  as  in  many  a  room  of  the  tenement-houses, 
the  work  of  sorting  goes  on.  Bones  and  garbage  of  many 
kinds  are  often  added  to  the  rags,  and  here  again  the  Board 
of  Health  interferes  as  far  as  possible.  A  thousand  people 
dwell  in  the  Beehive,  and  most  of  them  of  the  lowest  order, 
yet  there  are  few  beggars,  and  the  majority  work  hard  each 
day.  They  give  up  the  open-air  eating  that  formed  part  of 
their  European  home  life,  nor  do  they  take  as  many  saints' 
days  for  holidays.  The  New  York  passion  for  money  is  upon 
them,  and  they  work  out  of  these  noisome  surroundings  into 
something  better  in  surprisingly  short  spaces  of  time.  The 
members  of  the  class  just  above  them  —  the  thrifty  bourgeois 
— make  money  as  grocers,  hairdressers,  or  barbers,  and  go 
back  to  their  native  land  to  astonish  old  neighbors  with 
their  gains.  Often  such  a  one  returns  to  New  York  and 
to  the  same  quarters,  for  the  sake  of  adding  to  his  store,  find- 
ing that  the  old  life  has  lost  its  charm  and  that  his  days  must 
end  in  America. 

There  is  yet  another  class  —  the  chorus  singers  and  ballet- 
dancers  in  the  spectacular  drama,  and  the  opera  companies. 
They,  with  merchants  and  professional  men,  frequent  the 
Italian  restaurants,  some  of  which  are  famous. 

Nothing  has  done  more  to  make  the  Italian  immigrant 
contented  with  New  York  than  the  industrial  schools,  which 
are  thronged  by  the  children.  A  pair  who  had  landed  at 
Castle  Garden  at  six  were  found  in  line  at  nine  the  same 
morning,  and  announced  that  seven  others  would  be  there  in 
the  afternoon.  They  know  from  others  just  what  is  provided 
for  them,  and  use  every  opportunity.  The  great  school  on 
Leonard  Street,  the  outgrowth  of  the  little  seed  planted  in 
1855,  holds  five  hundred  of  them.  Afternoon  and  night 
schools  take  in  the  most  pupils,  since  many  must  earn  their 
support  during  the  day.     The  boys  are  taught  various  trades ; 


ITALIAN   EDUCATION    IN    NEW    YORK. 


•»■»; 


the  girls  learn  sewing,  lace-making,  and  so  forth.  The  build- 
ing has  school-rooms,  bath-rooms,  reading-rooms,  and  printing- 
offices,  where  trades  are  taught  and  payment  given  for  work 
that  is  done.     Some  stay  away  at  intervals,  or  attend  irregu- 


SIDEWALK   VEGETABLE    STANDS,    MULBERRY    STREET. 

larly,  because  they  must  "mind  the  stand"  or  help  to  sort 
rags,  but  all  are  anxious  to  come.  Often  they  graduate  from 
this  into  the  public  school,  and  hundreds  of  good  citizens  owe 
their  success  to  teachings  received  here. 

The  story  of  this  school  is,  like  that  of  many  another 
invaluable  work  for  children  in  Xew  York,  a  part  of  the 
record  of  the  Children's  Aid  Society.  The  first  Italian  emi- 
grants were  chiefly  a  part  of  the  pad/rone  system,  and  neces- 


408 


SUSPICIOUS  AND   DISTRUSTFUL  PEOPLE. 


sarily  the  lowest  order  of  that  nationality.  Some  fifteen  hund- 
red settled  in  and  about  the  Five  Points,  to  which  that  type 
still  gravitates.  But  they  were  not  criminals  and  they  lived 
hard-working  lives,  shut  off  by  their  ignorance  of  English  from 

much  share 
in  the  life 
about  them. 
Suspicion  and 
distrust  had 
been  born  of 
this  isolation, 
and  thus  it 
was  hard  to 
make  them 
believe  that  a 
school  could 
be  opened 
with  no  ulte- 
rior  design 
below  the 
seeming  help. 
Three  years 
of  constant 
effort  were 
required  be- 
fore any  real 
foothold  was 
gained,  the 
ardent  oppo- 
sition of  one  of  their  priests  being  the  greatest  obstacle.  He 
threatened  excommunication  for  all  who  allowed  their  children 
to  enter  the  heretic  doors,  and  went  from  house  to  house  to 
supplement  the  curse  given  in  church.  Fortunately,  he  col- 
lected money  for  a  school  according  to  his  own  ideas,  and  then 
decamped,  preferring  to  spend  it  at  his  leisure  on  his  own  soil. 
This  was  the  turning-point,,  for  the  people  made  amends  by 
sending  their  children  to  the  school  he  had  denounced. 


SIDEWALK   TURNIP   SELLER,    MULBERRY    STREET. 


A    MAX    OP    MANN     ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


409 


l 


* 


■  I 


From  this  time  on,  the  growth  of  the  school  1ms  been  steady. 
The  chief  object  was  to  cultivate  self -respect  and  turn  the  child- 
ren from  begging  and  organ-grinding  towards  trades,  and  this 
has  been  accomplished  most  thoroughly.  The  Maestro  has  he- 
come  a  most  indispensable 
personage,  and  is  assumed 
;8P7^  to  be  not  only  teacher,  but 

lawyer,  doctor,  theologian, 
astronomer,  banker,  —  ev- 
erything that  is  good  and 
desirable.  Family  quarrels 
are  brought  before  him  for 
adjustment,  and  the  grati- 
tude of  the  people  is  un- 
ending compensation  for 
the  service  rendered.  The 
Italian     government, 


I 


ITALIAN   RAG-PICKER   MENDING   Ills    RAGS,    MULBERRY    BTREET. 

through  its  Minister  in  the  United  States,  has  sent  formal 
thanks  for  the  benefits  extended  to  its  people,  and  the  higher 
class  of  Italians  in  New  York  are  doing  their  full  share  toward 
helping  on  the  work. 

Italians  born  in  this  country  are  much  lighter  in  complexion 
than  those  born  under  an  Italian  sun.  They  pass  for  Ameri- 
cans, and  wish  to,  for  they  are  sometimes  made  to  feel  that 
their  nationality  is  a  disgrace.     They  enter  every  trade.     The 


410  KNIGHTS   OF   THE   STILETTO. 

girls  are  dexterous  and  skillful  workers,  and  many  are  found  in 
artificial-flower  factories.  In  one  of  these  factories,  near  Canal 
Street,  an  old  Carbonaro  spends  his  days  in  stamping  patterns 
for  flowers,  a  gray -headed,  eagle-eyed  old  man,  a  patriot  and 
companion  of  Garibaldi.  There  are  many  of  the  same  order, 
but  they  work  as  quietly  as  Garibaldi  himself  worked  at  his 
trade  of  sail-making  while  in  this  country. 

In  the  region  known  as  "Little  Italy"  many  of  the  most 
evil  and  reckless  have  banded,  but  they  are  a  company  less  to 
be  dreaded  than  our  own  hoodlums.  They  stab,  it  is  true,  and 
steal,  and  perform  other  undesirable  offenses ;  but  they  are  not 
as  lost  in  degradation,  and  often,  after  a  course  of  this  sort  of 
vicious  indulgence,  they  reform  and  take  to  hard  work. 

The  colony  has  nearly  eighty  benevolent  societies,  several 
weekly  papers,  and  a  Chamber  of  Commerce  supported  in  part 
by  the  Italian  government.  It  is  intended  to  establish  an  Ital- 
ian Home,  and  then  the  immigrants  will  fare  much  better  than 
at  present.  Swindlers  are  always  on  the  watch  to  defraud 
them,  and  there  is  constant  complaint  that  the  "bosses"  are 
often  as  much  at  fault.  Italian  banks  are  started  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  their  work,  and  presently  the  cashier  disappears 
with  their  savings ;  but  all  this  is  mending.  The  consuls,  under 
the  direction  of  King  Humbert  and  the  Italian  government,  are 
paying  special  attention  to  the  immigrant  and  to  the  condition 
of  all  Italians  in  this  country,  and  there  is  much  testimony  to 
their  teachableness.  They  make  a  city  of  their  own,  and  are 
one  more  element  in  the  strange  mosaic  we  call  New  York, 
where  every  nationality  is  coming  to  have  larger  place  than 
the  stock  which  has  the  best  right  to  claim  it  as  home. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SHANTYTOWN  AND  ITS  DWELLERS  — LIFE  AMONG  NEW  YORK 
SQUATTERS— CHARACTERISTIC  SCENES  AND  INCIDENTS. 

The  Lund  of  Hans  and  Pat  — A  Fertile  Field  for  Artists— The  March  of  Im- 
provement—  German  Patience  and  Industry  —  Pat's  Fondness  for  White- 
wash—An  Accommodating  Style  of  Architecture  —  Growing  up  in  Shan- 
tytown—  Nora  says  "  Yes"  —  Sudden  Evictions  —  The  Possibilities  of  Old 
Junk  —  A  Persistent  Landholder;  His  Home*  Blasted  from  under  him  — 
Making  the  Most  of  a  Little  —  The  Living  among  the  Dead  —  The  Animals 
of  Shantytown  —  Dogs  and  Goats  as  Breadwinners — The  Pound  —  The 
Aristocracy  of  the  Tenement-Houses  —  An  Irish  Landholder  —  The  Stuff 
Aldermen  are  Made  of — Rapid  Rises  from  Small  Beginnings  —  Cleaning 
out  the  Shanties  —  The  Shadow  which  Overhangs  Shantytown. 


L 


OXG  ago,  in  the  days  which  the  old  New  Yorker  recalls 
with  an  effort,  there  was  no  Central  Park.  The  traveler 
up  town  knew  well  the  strange  aspects  of  the  dingy  suburbs, — 
land.  rock.  hill,  and  hollow,  alike  bristling  with  shanties  where 
the  Irishmen  reveled  in  all  the  dirt,  all  the  smells,  and  all  the 
barefoot  freedom  of  his  own  native  cabin.  They  swarmed  at 
every  turn.  Xot  a  bush  or  tree  but  held  its  quota  of  family 
linen,  inflated  by  the  free  winds  of  the  new  country.  Mongrel 
dogs  contested  place  with  the  goats,  which  browsed  upon  every- 
thing from  a  dandelion-top  to  a  battered  coffee-pot  or  the  browil 
paper  that  had  wrapped  Pat's  slice  of  bacon.  Pigs  lived  in 
closest  relation  with  the  family  and  lent  their  voices  to  the 
chorus  from  geese  and  dogs.  Cows  lifted  gentle,  incurious  eyes 
to  the  passer-by,  and  hens  divided  place  with  the  mistress 
of  the  shanty  and  snatched  the  bread  from  the  children's  hands 
with  a  confidence  born  of  long  practice. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  building  goes  on  steadily,  that  row 
after  row  of  houses  rise  everywhere  of  all  orders  of  pretension 
and  general  flimsiness  of  construction,  it  remains  a  fact  that 
hundreds  of  acres  are  still  occupied  by  squatters,  and  that  a 

(411) 


412 


SHANTYTOWN  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 


large  portion  of  the  "green  stuff"  consumed  by  New  Yorkers 
is  grown,  as  it  were,  under  their  very  eyes. 

The  old  Shantytown  is  fast  disappearing  before  the  builder 
and  contractor.  The  half  mile  of  space  between  Sixty -second 
and  Seventy-second  Streets  was  most  densely  populated, —  the 
Bohemia  of  the  poor,  to  which  the  newly  arrived  emigrants  of 
the  lower  order  gravitated  almost  instinctively,  finding  a  city 
after  their  own  hearts. 


^'iL 


i  T^      1! 

h g.fii";:;i'i> 


A   CLUSTER   OF   SHANTIES   IN   SHANTYTOWN. 


The  investigator  who  regarded  it  simply  as  the  capital  of 
the  kingdom  of  Misrule  soon  found  his  mistake.  A  certain 
order  prevailed.  Some  houses  were  utterly  squalid,  and  repelled 
as  thoroughly  as  their  owners.  For  some  of  the  older  ones 
sunshine  and  rain  had  worked  their  alchemy  and  brought  out 
soft  colors.  The  scraps  of  which  the  buildings  were  made  were 
as  varied  and  capricious  as  the  material  of  an  oriole's  nest.  No 
wonder  that  artists  wandered  here,  making  surreptitious  sketches 
or  boldly  bribing  children  to  serve  as  temporary  models ;  for 
Shantytown  had  a  life  and  picturesqueness  unknown  and  un- 
dreamed of  by  the  reputable  regions  farther  down. 

For  years  Shantytown  retained  its  characteristics,  the  early 


THE   ARISTOCRACY    OF   SHAMYToWX.  413 

immigration  swelling  its  numbers.  It  was  a  sort  of  primary 
school  in  which  some  necessary  lessons  were  learned,  most  of 
the  pupils  passing  speedily  to  a  higher  grade.  Bui  many  re- 
mained from  pure  love  of  the  life,  looked  down  upon  by  their 
relatives  in  the  tenement-houses,  who  regarded  themselves  as 
much  nearer  the  aristocracy  to  which  they  were  all  in  the  end 
to  come.  But  cling  as  they  might  to  the  first  quarters,  subtle 
changes  were  at  work.  The  children  were  taking  on  American 
characteristics,  studying  in  public  schools,  and  unconsciously 
assimilating  the  new  life. 

With  the  first  thought  of  Central  Park  a  howl  went  up.  and 
there1  were  louder  ones  as  the  thought  found  shape  and  the 
march  of  improvement  took  its  course  right  through  and  over 
these  swarming  ant-hills  of  human  life.  The  progress  was 
swift  and  certain.  Like  another  Eed  Sea  the  Park  swallowed 
up  its  host,  and  no  man  knew  what  fate  befell  the  vanished 
thousands. 

Shantytown  still  has  its  representatives.  It  is  widely  scat- 
teredj  but  there  is  still  a  region  given  over  to  gardens,  cultivated 
chiefly  by  the  successors  of  the  first  inhabitants,  who  had  little 
thought  of  this  means  of  making  a  living.  The  German,  with 
his  patience  and  unending  capacity  for  toil,  has  come,  and  with 
him  miles  upon  miles  of  market -gardens.  The  houses  have 
altered  little,  save  that  they  are  often  cleaner,  and  that  vines 
clamber  over  them,  and  flowers  are  here  and  there.  There  is 
an  Irish  element  still,  but  the  Italian  is  added,  and  in  a  cluster 
of  shanties  one  may  often  distinguish  the  nationalities  by  the 
outward  expression  of  the  shanty  itself. 

The  Irishman  likes  whitewash  hardly  less  well  than  the 
negro,  and  he  uses  it  not  only  for  his  house  but  for  pigsty e  and 
anything  else  to  which  it  can  be  conveniently  applied,  from 
tree-trunk  to  the  stones  about  the  door.  He  accepts  his  ground 
as  he  finds  it,  and  has  a  fine  eye  for  possibilities.  Xo  two  feet 
of  his  floor  have  the  same  grade,  and  often  a  knob  of  Lauren- 
tian  gneiss  shows  its  head  in  the  middle  of  the  shanty  and  is 
utilized  as  bench  or  table.  A  shanty  has  been  known  to  creep 
all  over  a  rock  and  employ  every  jutting  point  as  buttress  or 


414  THE   HOUSE   THAT   PAT.    BUILT. 

stay,  but  it  settles  with  equal  facility  in  the  hollows  and  has  no 
objection  to  mud  floors. 

There  are  tenants  whose  life  began  here.  They  played  as 
babies  in  the  same  puddle,  contesting  it  with  the  geese  seeking 
vainly  to  live  up  to  the  traditions  of  their  ancestors  and  to 
make-believe  triumphantly  that  puddles  are  next  best  to  ponds. 
Later  the  boy  and  girl  carried  the  family  pail  to  the  pump  to- 
gether, or  went  to  and  from  school  for  such  time  as  is  allotted 
to  fragments  of  education.  The  girl  has  changed  insensibly 
yet  suddenly  to  woman.  The  boy  has  become  a  truckman  or 
day-laborer,  but  looks  in  of  an  evening,  to  be  assailed  on  his 
exit  with  old  tin  cans  and  jeers  by  the  observant  small  boys  of 
the  neighborhood.  He  does  not  mind.  Norah  has  blushed 
and  laughed  and  evaded  till  the  last  moment,  and  then  said  an 
honest  "  Yes,"  and  he  plans,  as  he  goes,  how  they  may  have  a 
house  of  their  own  and  stay  on  in  the  old  spot. 

Once  he  would  have  had  free  tenancy.  Now  the  ground- 
rent  of  a  lot  ranges  from  twenty-five  to  fifty  dollars,  with 
always  the  chance  of  a  sudden  eviction.  The  steam  drill  and 
derrick  are  tokens  of  coming  change,  and  no  other  warn- 
ing is  needed,  though  there  is-  a  customary  gift  of  five  dollars 
to  every  householder  compelled  to  sudden  flight. 

The  shanty  architect  pleases  his  own  fancy.  Often  he 
picks  up  the  boards  and  outer  fittings  as  he  goes,  but  any  junk- 
shop  will  supply  him  with  as  motley  a  collection  as  he  likes. 
The  settlement  is  tolerably  certain  to  have  at  least  one  such 
shop,  where  strange  accumulations  may  be  seen  in  which  the 
practised  eye  at  once  discerns  all  possibilities.  The  squatter 
may  choose  to  arrange  his  material  in  one  of  the  depressions 
in  the  soil,  or  perch  upon  a  rock.  In  the  latter  case  he 
is  more  likely  to  feel  the  shock  of  blasts,  or  to  be  forced  to 
make  way  for  the  derrick.  One  man  clung  to  his  eyrie  long 
after  such  work  had  begun,  running  out  when  a  blast  was 
announced  and  returning  till  a  signal  for  the  next  one  came, 
holding  his  place  till  the  rock  was  actually  drilled  from  under 
him. 

The  junk-shop  provides  all  that  can  be  needed  for  begin- 


•         SHARERS  OF  THE  SHANTY.  415 

ners.     Old  stovepipe  abounds,  and  where  it  fails  an  ingenious 

tenant  has  been  known  to  supply  its  place  with  pieces  of  drain- 
pipe acquired  he  does  not  say  how.  A  stove  which  has  no 
objection  to  bricks  for  legs ;  a  bed,  and  some  odds  and  ends  of 
chairs  and  tables,  all  of  which  may  make  the  interior  appear 
squalid  or  inviting  according  to  the  charactertistics  of  the 
mistress.  In  many  a  shanty  one  sees  that  she  has  learned  how 
to  make  the  most  and  best  of  her  possessions,  and  to  brighten 
the  room  with  spotless  white  curtains  and  gay  chromos. 

Traces  of  old  days  still  linger.  Yonder  an  old  house  yet 
stands  on  a  hill,  with  enormous  willows  here  and  there,  though 
the  steam  drill  is  ominously  near.  A  little  further  down  are 
the  ruins  of  an  old  Dutch  Reformed  church,  and  in  the  grave- 
yard are  stones  whose  well-nigh  illegible  inscriptions  testify  to 
the  surprising  indifference  of  descendants  of  old  families  to 
these  memorials  of  the  past.  Goats  clamber  at  will  over  grave 
and  stone,  and  children  play,  gathering  flowers  which  spring 
from  the  dust  of  other  children  who  once  held  their  places. 

Wherever  there  is  space,  and  often  where  there  is  not, 
geese  are  being  fattened  for  market.  Poultry-dealers  send 
them  up  here  and  expect  a  return  of  so  many  a  week  or 
month.  Often  the  people  own  a  flock  which  wanders  at  will, 
trying  puddles  at  various  points,  and  cackling  loudly  at 
strangers  and  confidentially  among  themselves.  Hens  abound 
and  share  the  shanty,  and  pigs  as  well ;  but  dogs  are  the  chief 
feature,  and  with  the  goats  they  front  one  at  any  and  all 
points  from  which  Shantytown  may  be  approached.  The  big 
ones  are  bread-winners.  The  rag-pickers  and  garbage  men 
and  women  use  them  in  small  carts,  or  they  carry  loads  of 
truck.  They  are  mongrel  in  name  and  nature,  and  bite  at 
every  opportunity,  to  the  secret  joy  of  their  owners,  who  Avish 
no  intruders  and  who  would  fain  shut  out  from  Shantyland  all 
but  themselves. 

There  is  a  pound  also.  It  is  at  the  end  of  a  long  street  of 
shanties,  and  is  run  by  an  American  who  makes  it  his  business 
to  see  that  neither  cows  nor  goats  trespass.  For  the  former  he 
has  one  dollar;  for  the  latter  twenty-five  cents,  if  either  are 


416 


SILENT  AND   THRIFTY  HANS. 


caught-  out  of  bounds ;  and  thus  he  earns  a  living  and  the  cor- 
dial detestation  of  all  Shantytown. 

Wherever  there  is  a  patch  of  land  that  can  be  used,  a  garden 
springs  up.  It  is  Germans  who  sow  and  weed  and  work  in 
rain  or  shine  alike,  laying  the  foundation  of  the  prosperity  that 


BACK  YARD  OF  A  SHAN- 
TY IN  SHANTYTOWN. 


they  are  certain  to  secure.  They  do  not  like  visitors,  and  with 
reason,  since  they  suspect  in  each  one  a  real-estate  agent  or 
some  prying  inspector  sent  by  the  Board  of  Health.  ~Now  and 
then  one  will  talk,  but  never  till  he  has  settled  satisfactorily  to 
his  own  mind  that  his  interviewer  belongs  to  neither  class. 
He  pays  his  ground-rent  cheerfully,  only  sighing  as  he  thinks 
of  dispossession.  But  he  is  master  still  of  thousands  of  acres 
in  the  Harlem  region,  nor  will  he  be  entirely  driven  out  for 
years  to  come. 

The   scorn  with  which  the  tenement-house  dweller  looks 
upon  his  brethren  in  the  shanties  is  one  feature  of  the  situation 


AN    IDEAL   SUA  NT  V. 


41? 


which  fills  the  disinterested  observer  with  amazement.    It  is 

regarded  as  a  family  disgrace  to  live  in  Shantytown, and  every 

influence  is  brought  to  bear  to  make  them  renounce  the  life 

and  herd  like  the  others  in  the  tenement-hives  which  they  call 

homes.      Yet  the  shanty-dweller  has  a  thousand  advantages 

over  his  more  conventional  relative.     But  when  he  has  put  on 

the  yoke  of  civilization,  he  generally 

bids  erood-bve  forever  to  the  health 

he  brought  with  him,  the  generation       >v<'^ 

of  Irish  born  in  this  country  being  ™ffi]l!L$t 

prone  to   many   diseases,   consump-   ^S^0y-^^Msi4 


tion  especial 
ly,    which  is  I 
a  1  most    un-  r^;. 
k  n  o  w  n    to 
their  cabin 
life  at  home. 
Within  a 
block  of  the 
spot    where  § 
these    words  /%£ 
were  written  p§f' 
is    the   ideal  4 
shanty,    a 
growth  rath-  |§P&^ 
er    than    an  '^ 

actual       ereC- A  THRIFTY    CKKMANs    SHANTY    IN    SHANTYTOWN.       TEN     COWS 

tion       The  kept  in  a  low  shed  on  the  premises. 

owner  of  the  seven  lots  which  will  presently  be  sold  for  a 
hundredfold  their  original  price  has  left  the  straggling  fence 
put  up  in  the  days  when  the  land  was  still  a  pasture.  He 
charges  ground-rent,  but  a  moderate  one,  and  many  a  man 
might  envy  the  tenant  who  pays  it.  Two  trees  spread  their 
graceful  branches  over  the  roof,  covered  with  strange  speci- 
mens of  tin  and  sheet  iron,  with  patches  of  shingles  here  and 
there.  The  windows  were  evidently  once  part  of  some  steam- 
boat, and  sides  and  front  have  come  together  quite  of  them- 


418 


PAT  S   ANCESTRAL   TREE. 


selves,  it  'would  seem,  —  no  two  boards  having  relation  to  each 
other.  The  pipe  which  serves  as  chimney  is  of  three  orders, — 
big,  little,  and  a  tile-pipe,  all  ingeniously  bound  together  with 
wires,  and  strengthened  with  odd  bits  of  tin  and  iron.  A  hen- 
house of  the  same  composite  order  of  architecture ;  goats  every- 
where ;  a  dog-house,  a  low  stable  where  the  cow  stands  at  ease, 

and  a  pig-pen 
far  more  pre- 
tentious than 
the  house, 
make  up  the 
establish- 
ment. The 
New  York 
millionaire 
has  less  space 
and  by  no 
means  as 
much  hint  of 
■g^  country,  and 
£>  Tim,  as  he 
>  /  stands  in  his 
^z  doorway  at 
evening,  has  the  air  of  a  man  well  pleased  with  himself  and 
with  life.  But  the  sound  of  the  steam  drill  is  near,  and  soon 
this  too  will  give  way  to  the  long  line  of  "  flats "  like  those 
opposite,  and  Tim  and  his  family  will  descend  to  the  tenement- 
house,  where  already  the  brother  who  first  came  over  demands 
his  presence  for  the  credit  of  the  family. 

The  dweller  in  Shantytown  is  a  natural  politician.  Alder- 
men and  city  officials  have  often  come  from  ragpickers,  truck- 
men, and  the  various  orders  of  labor  that  make  up  the  popula- 
tion of  this  district.  It  is  from  just  this  region  that  some  of 
the  present  City  Fathers  have  come.  They  had  little  groceries, 
such  as  are  still  standing,  and  furnished  sugar  and  tea  and  to- 
bacco to  the  neighborhood.  One  of  them  had  a  ball-room 
where  occasional  festivities  were  held ;  a  ball-room  rejoicing  in 


A  TYPICAL  "ESTABLISHMENT 
IN    SHANTYTOWN. 


SHANTY  TOWN    SHADOWS.  I  1'.' 

wealth  of  pink  and  blue  fly-paper, wooden  benches  in  long  rows 
against  the  wooden  walls,  on  which  kerosene  Lamps  in  iron 
brackets  were  screwed.  There  they  are  still,  and  at  night  one 
may  hear  the  sound  of  fiddle  and  jingling  piano,  and  the  thud 
of  feet  dancing  merrily  as  if  the  day  held  no  work.  Sometimes 
a  riot  comes,  and  then  the  police  descend ;  and  if  it  comes  too 
often,  the  shanties  are  cleaned  out  and  the  ground  made  ready 
for  the  derrick  and  drill,  —  the  shadow  which  always  overhangs 
Shanty  town.  Destruction  is  as  certain  as  for  any  village  that 
rears  its  walls  on  Vesuvius,  —  less  terrible,  but  always  in  the 
background ;  and  soon  the  advancing  city  will  have  swallowed 
all  that  remains  of  a  life  fast  passing,  and  Shantytown  will  be 
numbered  among  the  things  that  were. 


CHAPTEK   XXII. 

UNDERGROUND  LIFE  IN  NEW  YORK  — CELLAR  AND  SHED 
LODGINGS  —  DENS  OF  THE  VICIOUS  AND  DEPRAVED  — 
STARTLING  SCENES. 


Life  in  Basements  and  Cellars  —  Underground  Lodging  Places  —  Where 
Outcasts  and  Vagrants  Congregate  —  The  Worst  Forms  of  Crime,  Im- 
morality, and  Drunkenness — Sleeping  Over  Tide  Mud  —  Afloat  in  Their 
Beds  —  A  Visit  to  Casey's  Den  —  A  Rope  for  a  Pillow  —  Packed  Like 
Herrings  —  Pestilential  Places  —  A  Blear-Eyed  Crowd  —  "  Full  "  —  Five 
in  a  Bed  —  "Thim's  Illiganl   Beds"  —  Sickening  Sights  —  Cellar  Scenes 

—  Rum  Three  Cents  a  Glass  —  ' '  It's  the  Vermin  that's  the  Worst  "  — 
Standing  up  all  Night  —  Floors  of  Rotten  Boards  —  Dreadful  Surround- 
ings—  Things  that  Creep  and  Bite  —  A  "Shake-Down"  —  The  Home 
of  Criminals  and  Beggars — "Three  Cents  a  Spot"  —  A  Five-Cent  Bed 

—  "In  God  we  Trust ;  All  Else  is  Cash  "  —  The  Saloon  and  the  Lodg- 
ing-House  on  Friendly  Terms  —  An  Army  of  Vicious  and  Impecunious 
People  —  Startling  Figures. 


A    NIGHT  in  a  police- 


station  loclging-room 
is  one  of  horror.  Imagine 
bare  planks  raised  about 
two  feet  above  the  floor, 
sloping  at  a  slight  angle 
from  the  walls  of  a  room 
about  ten  by  twelve  feet, 
and  you  have  the  "  lodg- 
ing." Yet  hundreds  of 
men  and  women,  every 
winter's  night,  fight  like 
tigers  for  the  bare  privi- 
lege of  being  allowed  to 
sleep  upon  a  hard  board, 
or  even  to  be  granted  the 
luxury  of  having  a  roof  above  their  heads.     On  one  cold  night 

USO) 


A  POLICE    STATION-HOUSE   LODGING-ROOM. 


BEG(;iN(J    FOR    SHKI/I  111:. 


I-.M 


recently  more  than   six   hundred   men    and    women    fought, 

begged,  and  prayed  for  shelter  at  the  various  police  station- 
houses.  In  the  station-house  on  Eldredge  Street  alone,  tin- 
small,  close,  and  ill-smelling  rooms  given  up  to  lodgers  were 


MIDNIGIIT    IN    TIIE     WOMEN'S    LODGING-         <c  ^    f 

KOOM   AT   A   POLICE   STATION-HOUSE.       ^&fjt  l  JPC 

packed  with  eighty-seven  human  *w*«g4^i 
beings.  In  the  men's  lodging- 
room  fifty-three  unfortunates  were  crowded,  many  of  whom 
were  thankful  for  the  privilege  of  standing  up  all  night.  In 
winter  such  scenes  are  witnessed  night  alter  night,  and  they 
grow  more  frequent  as  the  years  roll  on.  "  They  will  not  take 
no  for  an  answer,"  said  the  sergeant.  "  When  I  tell  them  the 
lodging-rooms  are  full  to  suffocation,  they  still  beg  so  hard  to 
be  taken  in  out  of  the  cold  that  I  tell  them  to  go  ahead.  They 
go  inside  and  look,  and  some  of  them  silently  turn  about  and 
go  back  into  the  street  to  walk  around  all  night,  or  perhaps 
crawl  unobserved  into  a  cellar."  Sometimes  the  crowd  is  so 
great  in  this  station-house  that  the  door  of  the  lodging-room 
cannot  be  closed.  It  is  the  same  story  in  other  police  station- 
houses.     The  figures  differ,  but  the  conditions  are  the  same. 


422  LIFE  IN  CELLAR  LODGING-ROOMS. 

In  the  Fourth  and  other  Wards,  where  the  worst  order 
abounds  and  the  lowest  forms  of  life  exist,  are  numerous  base- 
ments and  cellars  that  afford  shelter  and  rest  by  night  and  are 
loafing  and  drinking  places  by  day.  These  underground  lodg- 
ings are  generally  the  resorts  of  thieves,  drunkards,  street  beg- 
gars, and  all  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  night  side  of  city 
life ;  and  they  take  in  also  many  a  one  who  by  some  disaster 
find  a  home  only  on  the  streets  by  day,  and  when  night  over- 
takes them  are  forced  to  a  choice  between  the  dreary  police 
station-house  and  a  share  in  the  dens  where  outcasts  and  beg- 
gars congregate. 

Some  of  these  lodgers  have  come  to  the  city  in  search  of 
employment ;  some  for  the  purpose  of  preying  on  the  charita- 
ble public  as  beggars ;  some,  exiled  from  home,  desire  to  lose 
their  identity  in  the  vast  sea  of  humanity  and  thus  evade 
offended  justice ;  others,  who  are  too  indolent  to  work  regu- 
larly, find  occasional  employment  absolutely  necessary  for  sub- 
sistence even  in  these  cellar  dens ;  and,  lastly,  large  numbers  of 
thieves  and  villains  of  every  description,  who  think  the  city 
offers  greater  opportunity  for  the  commission  of  crimes  and  at 
the  same  time  immunity  from  detection.  These  people  make 
up  to  a  great  extent  what  is  known  as  the  common  lodging- 
house  or  cellar  population.  Here  undoubtedly  are  found  the 
worst  forms  of  crime,  immorality,  drunkenness,  and  misery 
that  the  city  can  show.  The  entire  cellar  of  a  house  is  often 
formed  into  one,  and  occasionally  into  three  or  four  apartments 
for  lodging-places.  In  them,  men,  women,  and  children  sleep 
indiscriminately  together  without  the  slightest  regard  to 
modesty  or  decency.  The  rotten  boards  forming  the  floor 
often  bend  under  one's  weight  and  splash  against  the  water  be- 
neath. This  is  particularly  the  case  with  those  along  the  river 
front,  where  at  times  the  floors  of  the  cellars  will  be  inundated 
to  a  considerable  depth,  and  the  wretched  inmates  be  obliged 
to  keep  in  their  beds  till  the  water  subsides. 

There  is  a  class  of  lodging-houses  on  the  Bowery  and  else- 
where, where  a  bed  can  be  had  for  ten,  fifteen,  or  sometimes 
twenty-five  cents.     Some  of  them  are  well  managed  and  pay  a 


A    ROPE    FOR    A    PILLOW 


423 


fair  percentage  to  the  owners.    J>ut  they  are  seldom  occupied 

by  the  class  one  may  find  on  Water  Street  and  in  its  vicinity. 
For  years  there  was  one  den  at  number  336,  kept  by  a  man 
known  as  Casey,  which  may  serve  as  type  of  all  the  rest.  One 
a  grade  lower,  where  a  rope  stretched  a  few  inches  above1  the 


"SITTKKS"    IN    THE    WOMEN'S  LODGING    KOOM   AT   THE   TOLICE   STATION-HOUSE. 

floor  served  as  pillow,  and  where  the  men  and  women  packed 
in  like  herrings,  was  swept  away  by  the  clearing  for  the  build- 
ing of  a  warehouse  on  its  site;  but  Casey's  held  its  own  till 
very  recently,  ending  for  the  same  reason,  but  leaving  worthy 
successors  at  more  than  one  point  in  the  Ward. 

Seven  steps  down,  —  the  dingy  walls  of  a  brick  tenement 
rising  above  it, — one  came  to  a  much  battered  door,  mended 
here  and  there,  and  bearing  the  marks  of  many  kicks  as  well 
as  of  the  policeman's  club  which  did  duty  as  knocker  in  the 
present  visit.  It  opened  slowly  and  grudgingly,  a  head  of  tan- 
gled hair  appearing  first,  followed  by  the  body  of  a  bedraggled, 
gaunt,  and  blear-eyed  woman,  holding  a  baby  to  her  breast 


424  MY   VISIT   TO   CASEY'S   DEN. 

with  one  hand,  while  the  other  raised  a  smoky  kerosene  lamp 
high  above  her  head.     She  nodded  sulkily. 

"  Full,"  she  said,  and  then  made  way  for  entrance.  The 
room  opened  directly  from  the  steps, — fourteen  feet  square, 
and  so  low  that  the  policeman  bent  his  head  as  he  stepped  in. 
At  the  left  was  a  small  bar,  with  a  few  cracked  tumblers,  a 
broken-lipped  pitcher,  and  some  liquor  bottles.  Beyond  it  was 
the  Casey  bed,  occupied  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Casey,  two  sons  of  a 
former  husband,  —  boys  of  ten  and  eleven,  —  and  the  baby. 
Beyond  this  was  another  bed,  and  opening  from  the  room  were 
two  smaller  ones  with  neither  doors  nor  windows  and  filled 
with  beds  placed  close  to  one  another. 

"  Thinvs  illigant  beds,"  Mrs.  Casey  said,  pointing  to  the 
dirty,  tumble-down  cots,  with  vile  coverings  filthy  beyond 
words.  "  Illigant  beds.  You'll  not  be  findin'  any  so  good  for 
the  money  anywhere  else." 

A  glance  was  enough.  By  the  stove  in  the  center  of  the 
room  three  men  were  cooking  their  suppers  ;  one  a  red  herring, 
another  some  slices  of  almost  purple  liver,  and  the  last  a  salt 
mackerel.  The  fumes  of  the  cooking,  the  smoke  from  the 
pipes,  —  for  all  were  either  smoking  or  chewing,  —  and  the 
stench  of  the  place  itself,  made  an  air  it  seemed  impossible  that 
human  beings  could  endure  for  a  moment,  and  one  fled  to  the 
surface  without  strength  to  return.  The  best  bed  next  to  the 
Casey's  had  a  man,  wife,  and  child  as  tenants,  and  their  respect- 
able look  showed  it  was  not  a  familiar  experience.  A  day 
later,  at  the  Water  Street  Mission,  the  man  told  his  story. 
He  had  been  sick  in  hospital,  discharged  as  soon  as  able  to 
walk,  and  returned  home  to  the  tenement  on  Cherry  Street,  to 
find  that  his  wife  too  had  been  sick  in  the  mean  time  and  had 
that  day  been  dispossessed  by  the  landlord.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  do  but  try  Casey's. 

"I'd  been  there  before,"  the  man  said,  "when  it  was  worse 
than  it  is  now,  but  I  wouldn't  'a'  thought  of  taking  my  wife 
there  only  we're  Protestants  an'  so  hadn't  many  friends  in  the 
tenement,  I'll  sleep  in  the  streets  next  time,  or  walk  them 
till  night  is  done.     There  was  fifteen  men  and  women  in  them 


A   HOT-BED   OF   CRIME.  425 

back  rooms,  and  they  hung  their  clothes  on  such  nails  as  there 
was  about.  The  rum  is  three  cents  a  tumbler,  and  they  all 
had  some.     There  was  all  sorts  of  Lodgers.     "Nigger   Jo,"  — 

who  isn't  a  nigger  at  all,  but  only  hair  an'  eves  black  as  the 
devil.  —  he  was  one,  an'  he's  a  murderer  an*  more  than  once. 
The  three  that  sat  with  him  at  the  stove  was  all  old  jail-birds, 
an*  one  just  out  that  day.  "  Limy  Ted,"  he's  always  there,  an' 
everybody  knows  him.  He  isn't  just  right  in  his  head,  but 
Casey  gives  him  a  lodgin'  when  he  comes,  for  doin'  errands 
and  such.  You  saw  him,  with  a  big  head  and  a  pig  face,  an' 
always  with  a  grin.  Three  of  the  women  had  been  in  fights 
an'  had  black  eyes,  an'  one  had  no  clothes  but  an  old  calico, 
not  even  a  shawl,  for  every  one  had  been  pawned  for  drink, 
an'  she  swore  at  Casey  like  a  madwoman  because  he  wouldn't 
give  her  more.  The  wife  an'  child  was  that  dead  they  slept 
in  spite  of  'em.  till  they  first  got  to  fightin'  over  the  suppers, 
an'  then  about  a  woman.  The  policeman  on  the  beat  came 
down  an'  threatened  to  run  'em  in  if  they  weren't  quiet,  and 
that  stopped  'em  for  a  while.  Then  Jimmy  Evan  began  to 
sing  an  Irish  song,  an'  they  all  joined  in  the  chords,  an'  -  Curly 
Billy"  threw  a  tumbler,  and  they  all  pitched  in.  That 
brought  the  policeman  again,  an'  he  ordered  every  one  into 
bed. 

"  It's  the  vermin  that's  the  worst.  I  stood  'em  till  I  turned 
sick  with  'em,  an'  I  sat  up  on  the  stool  by  the  fire  an'  waited 
for  mornin'.  The  sewer-pipe  broke  in  the  room  above,  an' 
that  flooded  the  back  room,  but  the  lodgers  didn't  mind.  We 
got  out  by  daylight,  an'  please  God  it's  the  last  time." 

Lodging-houses  are  supposed  to  be  periodically  inspected  by 
the  Sanitary  Police.  They  divide  them  into  three  classes.  The 
best  are  known  as  first-class ;  those  not  having  as  good  conven- 
iences, as  second-class ;  and  those  requiring  more  attention  and 
more  frequent  inspection,  as  third-class.  The  police  are  re- 
quired to  inspect  the  first  and  second  classes  monthly,  and  the 
third  class  weekly.  The  law  requires  officers  to  see  that  pro- 
prietors thoroughly  ventilate  the  sleeping-rooms  daily,  by  open- 
ing the  doors,  —  and  windows  where  there  are  any;  to  care- 


426 


DIRT,    FILTH,    AND    VERMIN   EVERYWHERE. 


fully  observe  the  condition  of  the  bunks  and  beds,  to  see  that 
they  are  kept  clean,  well  aired,  and  free  from  vermin  ;  that  the 
walls  and  ceilings  are  cleaned  and  whitewashed  as  often  as  nec- 
essary ;  that  the  floors  are  occasionally  swept  and  scrubbed ; 
and  to  immediately  notify  the  Health  Department  of  any  per- 


ENTRANCE    TO   A   SUED   LODGING-HOUSE    IN   THE   REAR   OF   MULBERRY    STREET. 

son  sick  on  the  premises,  that  measures  may  be  taken  to  ascer- 
tain whether  such  person  is  sick  with  a  contagious  disease,  and 
to  retain  the  sick  person  until  the  case  can  be  investigated. 
The  officers  are  also  supposed  to  make  frequent  night  inspec- 
tion, to  ascertain  if  lodging-houses  accommodate  more  lodgers 
than  their  permit  allows. 

In  a  report  of  an  inspector  of  the  Sanitary  Aid  Society,  de- 
scribing a  tour  among  these  cellars,  he  says,  with  reference  to 
one  of  them : 

"  The  cellar  is  used  as  a  lodging-house.     The  measure  from 


A   MII.I'.KKRY   STREET    LODGING-8HBD.  427 

floor  to  ceiling  is  six  and  a  half  feet.  The  ceiling  is  six  inches 
below  the  level  of  the  sidewalk;  no  windows  of  any  kind  are  in 
front  or  rear.     A  lamp  was  necessary  to  make  the  inspection. 

It  is  not  ventilated  in  any  manner.  The  floor  is  in  a  very  bad 
condition;  the  boards  rotten  and  covered  with  filth  and  dirt. 
There  is  no  area  in  front  or  re;ir.  and  no  drainage  whatever. 
The  atmosphere  was  so  offensive  that  the  door  had  to  he  held 
open  while  the  inspection  was  made.  The  floor,  walls,  bed,  and 
bedding  were  very  filthy,  stinking,  and  reeking  with  the  mot 
unwholesome  emanations  and  odors.  There  are  six  double 
I..-, Is  and  one  single  one  in  this  cellar.  I  consider  it  dangerous 
to  the  people  who  live  in  it.  The  occupants  are  tramps  and 
transient  lodgers.'' 

Shed  lodging-houses  of  the  lowest  order  are  found  in  the 
rear  of  the  great  Bend  in  Mulberry  Street.  To  gain  access  to 
them  one  must  pass  through  narrow,  foul-smelling  alleys,  reek- 
ing with  accumulated  filth,  or  through  long,  dirty  hallways  of 
tenement-houses.  These  passage-ways  lead  to  the  rear  of  the 
street  buildings  and  open  into  back  yards  surrounded  by 
crowded  and  filthy  tenements,  where  life  at  its  worst  exists. 
Here,  among  rookeries  swarming  with  low  and  ignorant  Ital- 
ians, street-venders,  rag-pickers,  and  the  most  dangerous  scum 
of  Mulberry  Street  and  its  vicinity,  are  old  sheds  made  of  rot- 
ten boards  through  the  cracks  of  which  winds  moan  and  snow 
and  rain  find  easy  access.  Indescribable  filth  abounds  within 
these  lodging  sheds;  vermin  hold  undisputed  possession  and 
swarm  on  walls  and  floor. 

The  shed  usually  incloses  but  a  single  room  on  the  ground 
floor.  A  broken  skylight  in  the  roof  admits  the  only  light  by 
day.  There  is  no  furniture  of  any  description  save  a  bench 
about  eighteen  inches  wide  running  around  the  four  sides  of  the 
room  and  fastened  to  its  walls.  Occasionally  a  low  platform  — 
made  of  uneven  and  the  roughest  of  planks  —  is  provided  for 
the  use  of  those  who  can  afford  to  pay  the  extra  price  de- 
manded. Sometimes  a  small  space  in  one  corner  is  partially  in- 
closed by  boards  reaching  half-way  to  the  ceiling;  the  luxury 
of  such  a  "  reserved  room,"  furnished  with  a  filthy  husk  mat- 


428  LODGINGS   AT 

tress,  may  be  had  for  five  cents  a  night.  For  the  rest,  the 
bench,  and  the  bare  and  uneven  floor  with  perhaps  a  sprinkling 
of  saw-dust,  are  the  only  places  left,  the  usual  charge  being 
three  cents  a  night  for  the  privilege  of  a  spot  on  either.  The 
dirty  rags  on  the  lodgers'  backs  are  the  only  bed  and  covering 
they  have.  The  bench  is  a  coveted  place  and  is  quickly  filled. 
A  tallow  candle,  or  more  often  a  smoking  kerosene  lamp,  fur- 
nishes a  feeble  light  by  night.  The  air  is  thick  with  tobacco 
smoke  from  a  dozen  or  more  black  clay  pipes.  Some  of  the 
miserable  inmates  sit  up  all  night  and  are  designated  as  "  sit- 
ters"; others  stand  or  move  about  uneasily;  all  catch  such 
sleep  as  the  din  of  frequent  quarrels  and  fights  and  the  noisome 
stench  will  permit.  Here,  criminals  who  shun  the  light  of  day, 
and  women  of  the  lowest  and  most  degraded  type,  of  all  ages 
and  nationalities,  congregate  at  night,  and  sleep  promiscuously. 
Dissolute  persons  of  both  sexes  skulk  and  loaf  in  these  rooms 
by  day,  and  so  do  thieves  and  burglars  who  meet  here  to  make 
new  plans  and  sally  forth  at  night  to  commit  fresh  crimes.  Old 
scrub  women,  without  homes  or  friends,  who  wearily  tramp  all 
day  looking  for  a  chance  to  scrub  floors  of  offices  or  public 
buildings,  often  take  shelter  for  the  night  in  these  dens.  Street 
girls,  young  in  years,  but  most  of  them  old  in  sin,  in  some  of 
whose  faces  still  linger  traces  of  former  good  looks,  are  often 
driven  by  storms  or  dire  distress  to  spend  a  night  in  these  hor- 
rible lodging  sheds.  Not  unfrequently  homeless  children  creep 
in  unobserved  and  cuddle  down  to  sleep  in  a  corner.  On  a  cold 
or  stormy  night  in  winter  these  rooms  are  filled  to  their  utmost 
capacity. 

A  large  proportion  of  those  who  spend  the  night  in  cheap 
lodging-houses  may  be  set  down  as  criminals  and  beggars, 
others  are  irreclaimable  drunkards,  and  a  few  are  honest  men 
out  of  work,  or  men  who  have  employment  #t  starvation  wages. 
Then  there  is  a  small  proportion  of  peddlers  and  in  winter  an 
army  of  tramps ;  and  always  a  sprinkling  of  men  who  have 
seen  better  days  but  are  hopelessly  broken  down. 

In  some  resorts  one  can  have  a  cot  or  "  shake-down  "  in  a 
room  with  other  lodgers,  the  shake-down  being  a  dirty  narrow 


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SKULKERS,    Loafers,   OUTCASTS,    and  criminals.        431 

mattress  thrown  on  the  floor.  In  others  twenty  cents  will  buy 
the  privilege  of  a  " room  "  about  eight  feel  Long  by  five  feet 
wide,  separated  from  its  neighbor  by  a  board  partition  seven 


A    CORNER    IN    A    LODGING-SnKD    BY    DAY. 

feet  high.  Sometimes  a  wire  netting  is  stretched  over  the  top 
of  the  room,  as  a  slight  protection  against  raids  by  other 
lodgers.  There  are  no  toilet  facilities  in  the  rooms,  but  a 
general  lavatory  outside  gives  all  who  desire  it  the  luxury  of  a 
wash  in  the  morning.  Lodgings  must  invariably  be  paid  for  in 
advance,  and  to  this  rule  there  is  rarely  an  exception.  One 
lodging-house  conspicuously  displays  the  sign,   "  In   God  we 


432 


PARTNERS   IN   DARK   SCHEMES. 


trust,  all  else  is  cash."     Many  of  these  houses  are  furnished 
with  bunks  arranged  in  tiers  three  or  more  high. 

It  is  a  noticeable  circumstance  that  the  lodging-house  is 
very  often  adjacent  to  a  liquor  saloon,  either  its  next-door 
neighbor  or  directly  above  or  beneath  it.  The  saloon  and  the 
lodging-house  are  on 
friendly  terms ;  sometimes 
they  have  the  same  pro- 
prietors; and  when  they 
are    separately    managed, 


A  "reserved"  room  in  a  lodging  shed. 

drunken  men  from  the  saloon  are  taken  at  a  reduced  rate  or  for 
nothing  at  all,  the  lodging-house  keeper  being  recompensed  by 
free  drinks  for  himself  and  his  aids. 

There  are  270  lodging-houses  in  New  York  city,  which  con- 
tain 12,317  rooms.     The  number  of  lodgings  furnished  in  1890 


-I  ABTLING    l-l(.i  i;i  433 

to  persons  unable  or  unwilling  to  provide  for  themselves  in  a 
comfortable  manner  was  4,823,595;  adding  the  Btation-house 
Lodgers,  150,240,  there  were  4,973,835  cheap  Lodgings  furnished. 
This  indicates  that  an  average  of  L3,627  persons  Lodged  nightly 
in  the  station-houses  and  in  Lodging-houses  of  various  orders. 
These  are  startling  figures,  for  they  show  what  a  vast  army  of 
idle,  vicious,  and  impecunious  people  maintain  an  existence  in 
the  great  city. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

JACK  ASHORE  — AN  EASY  PREY  FOR  LAND-SHARKS  AND 
SHARPERS  —  LIFE  ON  THE  "ST.  MARY'S"  AND  AT  THE 
SAILORS'  SNUG  HARBOR. 

The  Universal  Love  for  the  Sea  —  Sailor  Life  —  A  Tale  of  Shipwreck 
and  Starvation  —  An  Unconscious  Hero  — An  Old  Sailor's  Story  —  "I 
Smelled  the  Sea  an'  Heard  it"  —  A  Voice  from  the  Waves — "Jack, 
Jack,  You  Ain't  in  your  Right  Place"  —  Jack's  Curious  Character  — 
His  Credulity  and  Simplicity  —  The  Prey  of   Land-Sharks  and  Sharpers 

—  Sailors'  Temptations  —  Dens  of  Robbery  and  Infamy  —  Life  in  Sail- 
ors' Boarding-Houses  —  The  Seamen's  Exchange  —  A  Boy's  Life  on  the 
School  Ship  "St.  Mary's"  —  Bethels  and  Seamen's  Homes  —  Life  at  the 
Sailors'  Snug  Harbor  —  A  Sailor-Clergyman  —  Fried  Fish  for  Eight 
Hundred  —  The  Cripples'  Room — "A  Case  of  Pure  Cussedness"  — 
Admiral    Farragut    and    Old    Jim  —  Bane    and   Antidote    Side   by  Side 

—  Ending  their  Days  in  Peace  —  How  Jack  Awaits  the  Ebbing  of  the 
Tide. 

LOVE  for  the  sea  is  as  old  as  the  story  of  man,  and  tales  of 
shipwreck  have  fascinated  and  thrilled  adventurous  boys 
from  the  days  of  Homer  to  our  own.  For  English-speaking 
people  it  is  intensified  by  long  usage.  To  be  born  on  an 
island  implies  knowledge  of  how  best  to  get  away  from  it,  and 
this  may  be  one  reason  why  emigration  is  the  natural  instinct 
of  the  English  or  their  descendants.  In  spite,  too,  of  all 
knowledge  to  the  contrary,  nothing  convinces  the  average  boy 
that  Jack's  life  is  anything  but  a  series  of  marvelous  ad- 
ventures in  which  he  is  generally  victor,  and  where  the  hard- 
ship is  much  more  than  made  up  for  by  the  excitement  and 
the  glory.  Even  Jack  himself  shares  the  delusion,  and  no  mat- 
ter what  peril  the  voyage  has  held  he  re-ships  with  alacrity,  to 
repeat  the  experience  or  even  to  find  it  his  last.  Sailors'  songs 
are  full  of  the  same  faith. 


"  There's  a  sweet  little  cherub  that  sits  up  aloft 
To  keep  watch  for  the  life  of  poor  Jack  "  — 


(434) 


A   ROMANCE   OF   THE   SEA. 


435 


wrote  Dibdin  a  hundred  years  ago,  adding  a  thousand  songs  of 
sailor  life  to  the  long  list  already  in  existence;  and   many 

a  runaway  boy  has  looked  up  involuntarily,  as  winds  rose  and 
sails  filled  and  strained,  for  the  guardian  promised  to  all  who 

tempt  the  sea. 

Years  ago  an  old  sailor,  the  mere  wreck  of  a  man.  was 
brought  to  one  of  the  city  hospitals  and  laid  on  one  of  the  lit- 
tle white  beds.     Shipwrecked,  and  for  days  floating  on  an  open 


?*=~-      -w.T.  5. 


THE    SCHOOL   SHIP   ST.    MARYS. 

raft,  parched  with  thirst,  well-nigh  starved,  and  seeing  his  com- 
panions day  by  day  fall  before  him.  he  had  been  picked  up  at 
last  unconscious,  though  still  holding  on  his  knee  the  head  of  a 
little  cabin-boy  for  whom  he  had  denied  himself  food,  and  with 
whom  he  had  shared  his  scanty  ration  of  water.  The  child 
died  before  port  was  reached,  and  Jack  found  resting-place  in 
the  great  hospital  to  which  one  of  the  owners  of  the  vessel  sent 
him.  He  had  broken  his  left  arm  in  the  wreck,  and  tied  it  up 
in  such  fashion  as  he  could ;  and  now  the  act  of  breaking  the 
arm  again  had  to  be  accomplished,  since  the  knitting  of  the 
bones  had  been  all  wrong. 

To  this  bed  there  gravitated,  as  if  by  instinct,  a  boy  who 


436 

knew  the  hospital  well,  and  whose  sunny  face  had  for  years 
brought  cheer  to  forlorn  souls  who  had  found  refuge  there. 
From  babyhood  he  had  said,  "I  shall  be  a  doctor,  like  my 
father,  and  make  everybody  well,"  and  he  followed  the  daily 
round  of  the  hospital  physicians  and  surgeons  with  unflagging 
interest.  Many  men  of  many  nations  had  lain  here,  but  never 
a  sailor  till  this  bronzed,  wrinkled,  weather-beaten  wreck,  who 
looked  out  from  under  his  grizzled  eyebrows  and  put  out  his 
hand  to  this  child,  the  reminder  of  one  for  whom  he  had  so 
nearly  lost  his  life. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  please,"  the  boy  said.  "  Tell  me  every 
word  of  it,"  and  the  old  sailor  began. 

"More,  more,"  the  boy  urged  at  any  stop, — his  shining 
eyes  intently  fixed  on  the  old  Sinbad's  face.  "  I  want  to  know 
everything  about  it." 

"  You  can't  unless  you  tries  it  for  yourself,"  said  Jack  at 
last.  "  An'  I  wouldn't  say  as  anybody'd  better  do  that.  It's 
a  dog's  life,  an'  what's  the  end  ?  Why,  you're  stranded,  maybe 
in  port,  an'  eat  the  bread  o'  charity, — you  that  has  worked 
day  an'  night  an'  been  knocked  round  worse'n  any  dog. 
You're  stranded  if  you  don't  end  in  a  wreck  as  there's  no 
savin'  you  from.  Seven  times  I've  been  shipwrecked, — seven 
times, —  an'  each  time  I've  said  to  myself,  'Jack,  you're  fool  if 
ever  you  leave  dry  land  again.'  But  I  did.  The  sea  draws 
you  like.  I  went  to  Maine  to  see  some  folks  I  had  up  there, 
an'  I  smelled  the  sea  an'  heard  it,  an'  all  the  day  long  it  called 
me  like,  '  Jack,  Jack,  you  ain't  in  your  right  place.  "Why  ain't 
you  where  you  belong  ? '  an'  at  last  it  wasn't  in  mortal  man  to 
stan'  it  another  day,  an'  I  stole  off,  along  o'  one  or  two  that 
would  'a'  stood  in  the  way  if  they'd  knowed.  I  stole  off  same 
as  I  stole  off  forty  year  afore,  an'  my  mother  lyin'  cryin'  for 
fear  I  would,  an'  I  hain't  never  been  back  since.  They're  all 
dead,  mos'  likely.  You  wouldn't  take  no  such  notion  as  that 
arter  you'd  been  wrecked  six  times,  this  time  makin'  the 
seventh.     You  wouldn't  now,  would  you  ? " 

"I  believe  you  want  to  go  again  yourself,"  said  the  boy 
after  a  long  shake  of  the  head.     "I  almost  do  myself." 


A  BOY  s    LONGING    FOR  THB   SEA. 


437 


"That's  the  righl  kind  of  a  boy  I"  exclaimed  old  Jack  with  a 

faint  attempt  at  a  hurrah!  k* I  knowed  you  was  the  right  kind 
of  a  boy  the  first  minute  I  set  eyes  on  yon.  Of  course  I  want 
to  go  agin,  an1  what's  more  I  shall,  soon  as  this  thing  is  knit 
an' I'm  set  up  enough  to  pass  muster.  Yon  come  along  too, 
aif  I'll  make  a  sailor  out  o'  you  tit  to  command  anything  as 
floats." 


BOYS    SCHOOLROOM    BETWEEN    DECKS   OX    THE   ST.   MAKV  8. 

"  I  would  if  I  could,  but  you  see  I  made  up  my  mind  so 
long  ago  to  be  a  doctor  that  I  don't  believe  I  can  change 
it  now.     I'll  think  about  it,"  said  the  boy. 

He  did  "think  about  it,''  to  the  consternation  of  all  his  kin 
and  the  deep  delight  of  old  Jack.  who.  as  his  arm  mended  and 
strength  came  back,  begged  for  wood  and  evolved  from  it  at 
last  a  full-rigged  brig,  every  rope  of  which  the  boy  presently 
knew.  The  curious  ferment  that  comes  to  the  boy  even  far 
inland  was  working  in  him,  and  to  such  purpose  that  to-day  he 
is  captain  of  a  great  ship  and   happiest  when   in  mid-ocean. 


438  BRUTAL  TREATMENT  OF  SAILORS. 

Through  him  many  things  have  been  done  to  lighten  the  lot 
of  sailors,  nor  are  his  efforts  likely  to  cease  till  the  last  voyage 
comes  and  he  meets  again  the  old  sailor  whose  words  first 
stirred  his  longing  for  the  sea. 

Something  like  this  is  the  story  of  thousands  who  are 
drawn  from  remotest  distances,  and  who  answer  the  call  once 
for  all.  Yet  there  is  no  life  among  workers  that  holds  more 
certain  hardship  and  privation,  or  often  more  utter  brutality 
of  treatment. 

Years  of  agitation  were  necessary  before  any  legislation 
looking  to  Jack's  welfare  was  brought  about,  and  this  came 
only  after  an  inquiry  into  general  conditions.  Isolated  cases 
of  barbarity  had  occasionally  stirred  public  feeling,  but  as 
Jack  was  seldom  allowed  to  testify  in  his  own  behalf,  and  any 
rebellion  came  under  the  head  of  mutiny  and  was  punished  by 
death,  no  man  had  less  chance  of  justice.  But  the  testimony 
at  the  first  court  of  inquiry  was  so  hideous  in  its  revelation  of 
what  terrors  hedged  about  the  life,  and  of  what  possibilities 
of  despotic  power  of  torture  and  death  were  in  the  hands  of 
the  captain  of  any  sailing  vessel,  that  the  first  Shipping  Act 
of  England  was  passed  without  a  dissenting  voice.  Even  this 
was  insufficient  to  check  the  worst  evils  of  the  system;  but 
further  legislation  brought  the  needed  reforms,  and  to-day  the 
British  sailor  has  a  fairer  chance  of  justice  than  most  of  his 
brethren.  America  is  not  far  behind,  though  our  own  Ship- 
ping Act  was  not  passed  till  within  recent  years.  Almost  a 
century  before,  as  the  merchant  service  grew  in  importance, 
a  society  had  been  formed  for  the  protection  of  the  sailor, 
known  as  the  Marine  Society  of  New  York,  which  was  incor- 
porated in  1770.  It  sought  to  make  his  position  a  safer  one, 
and  to  bring  some  alleviations  into  the  hard  lives;  but  little 
could  be  done  save  in  port,  long  cruises  rendering  any  over- 
sight impossible. 

Then,  as  now,  the  chief  difficulty  lay  in  the  characteristics 
of  Jack  himself.  With  the  spirit  of  adventure  which  had 
made  him  a  sailor  were  bound  up  also  the  impulsive,  heedless 
generosity  of  a  child  and  a  warm-heartedness  always  prompt 


WAYLAID    BY      •  TOU  I  ERS. 


i:;:< 


to  relieve  fancied  distress,  and  to  share  with  all  in  trouble  of 
any  order.  Credulous,  simple,  and  with  small  capacity  for 
learning  any  lessons  from  even  the  bitterest  experience.  Jack, 
from  the  day  he  set  foot  on  shore,  was  the  prey  of  land-sharks 
and  sharpers.  With  great  love  for  old  associations,  even  when 
disastrous  ones,  he  was  more  than  likely  to  make  straight  for 
the  very  spot  in  which  he  had  suffered  most.     Add  to  this  the 


THE   SAIL-MAKING  CLASS  ON   THE   ST.  MARY  S. 

fact  that  an  organized  gang  of  rascals  preyed  upon  him  sys- 
tematically, and  it  is  plain  that  very  active  effort  would  be 
needed  to  alter  conditions  and  Jack's  own  relations  to  them. 
The  "touter"  for  sailors'  boarding-houses,  until  the  passage 
of  the  Shipping  Act,  had  everything  in  his  favor.  Payment 
was  made  by  the  owners,  and  to  secure  as  much  of  Jack's  hard- 
earned  money  as  possible  was  the  "  touter's  "  first  work.  Often 
the  " touter"  met  the  incoming  vessel  and  went  on  board  with 
the  pilot.  Many  a  time  his  operations  were  of  this  order :  A 
confederate,  stationed  in  the  background,  waited  while  the 
" touter"  asked  his  victim  where  he  meant  to  go.     If  Jack 


440  HOW   POOR  JACK  IS   SWINDLED. 

hesitated  or  said  he  did  not  know,  or  if  he  named  a  preference, 
the  confederate  suddenly  fell  upon  him,  half  stunning  him  with 
a  heavy  blow. 

"  Take  that  for  your  impudence,"  was  the  exclamation  of 
the  "  touter,"  as  he  fell  upon  the  confederate  for  having  abused 
his  man,  bringing  Jack  at  once  to  the  rescue.  Jack  is  specially 
sensitive  to  sympathy,  and  gratitude  to  his  defender  made  him 
quickly  agree  to  go  with  him ;  and  the  "  touter,"  having  made 
a  small  advance,  knew  that  his  prey  was  certain.  Jack's 
heart  warmed  as  he  saw  the  familiar  names  over  the  doors  on 
South  or  Water  Streets :  "  The  Flowing  Sea,"  "  The  Mariner's 
Home,"  and  the  like.  In  these  dens,  where  foul  women  waited 
and  the  bar  offered  every  temptation,  Jack  found  a  home  such 
as  it  was  till  he  shipped  again,  the  boarding-house  keeper 
charging  double  and  treble  prices  for  everything  furnished, 
sending  in  the  bill  to  the  owners.  A  frequent  charge  on  the 
ledger  was  for  "  a  treat  for  all  hands,"  which  would  be  any- 
where from  five  to  ten  dollars  for  each  performance.  Jack's 
bill  ran  up  at  a  frightful  rate.  Often  he  found  himself  not 
only  without  a  cent,  but  in  debt,  and  his  earnings  for  the  next 
voyage  already  mortgaged.  In  a  single  night  the  fruit  of  a 
three  years'  cruise  might  disappear,  and  often  Jack  found  him- 
self beaten,  robbed,  and  on  the  sidewalk,  with  no  knowledge 
of  how  it  had  come,  and  quite  powerless  to  find  or  convict  his 
assailants. 

The  Shipping  Act  ended  much  of  this.  In  1868  there  were 
one  hundred  and  sixty-nine  sailors'  boarding-houses  in  New 
York  city,  in  which  fifteen  thousand  sailors  were  annually  rob- 
bed of  very  nearly  three  million  dollars.  To-day  there  are  less 
than  a  hundred,  forty  of  which  are  licensed,  and  many  means 
are  adopted  to  secure  to  the  sailor  protection  from  temptation 
and  some  of  the  comforts  of  shore  life. 

To  any  one  with  any  interest  in  the  fortunes  of  poor  Jack 
the  Seamen's  Exchange  appeals  at  once.  It  is  an  unpretentious 
building  fronting  on  Water  Street,  and  opened  in  April,  1872. 
In  his  address  at  its  dedication  Mr.  Beecher  said :  "  This  build- 
ing gives  the  sailor  comforts  which  he  will  appreciate,  and  such 


LOOKING  OUT   FOB  jack's  COMPORT.  ill 

influences  will  preach  religion  to  him  even  if  Christianity  is* 
never  mentioned." 

From  statistics  kept  here  it  is  found  that  there  are  always 
about  three  thousand  sailors  in  port,  while  sixty  thousand  yearly 
come  and  go, —  call  of  them,  with  lew  exceptions,  reporting  at 
the  Seamen's  Exchange.  On  the  first  floor  is  a  savings-bank 
and  a  large  and  cheerful  reading-room.  The  basement  has  a 
clothing  and  outfitting  store,  where  everything  Jack  requires  is 
furnished,  good  in  quality  and  moderate  in  price.  On  the  sec- 
ond floor  is  a  hall  which  will  hold  eight  hundred,  and  above  are 
the  oirices  of  the  United  States  Shipping  Commission. 

Here  one  finds  a  bulletin  for  names  and  destination  of  ships 
wanting  men,  and  usually  a  row  of  sailors  studying  it.  When 
they  have  settled  to  their  own  satisfaction  which  vessel  is  the 
desirable  one,  there  are  various  formalities  not  known  to  the 
past.  Printed  legal  forms  are  now  in  use  for  masters,  men,  and 
owners.  The  wages,  service,  and  food  are  precisely  stipulated. 
The  master  binds  himself  to  pay  thirty-live  dollars  a  month  and 
give  a  certain  dietary.  A  day's  allowance  is  one  pound  of 
bread,  one  and  a  half  pounds  of  beef,  half  a  pound  of  flour,  one- 
eighth  of  an  ounce  of  tea,  half  an  ounce  of  coffee,  two  ounces 
of  sugar,  and  three  quarts  of  water.  Kations  of  desiccated  or 
fresh  vegetables  are  often  issued,  and  every  precaution  is  taken 
against  scurvy,  which  in  the  past  was  one  of  the  worst  afflic- 
tions of  the  sailor.  His  quarters  are  cleaner,  his  food  better, 
and  his  life  in  all  respects  brighter  than  even  a  generation  ago  ; 
yet  even  now  hardly  a  week  passes  without  some  tale  of  outrage 
on  the  high  seas,  and  it  is  found  that  it  is  easier  to  deal  with 
Jack  than  with  Jack's  masters. 

The  mercantile  service,  in  which  there  is  chance  of  rising, 
and  which,  though  not  on  the  same  footing  as  in  the  past,  when 
men  of  education  and  influence  were  merchant  captains,  is 
regaining  a  portion  of  its  diminished  prestige.  There  is  a 
training-school  for  this  under  the  control  of  the  Board  of  Edu- 
cation. This  on  the  school-ship  "St.  Mary's,"  stationed  in 
New  York  harbor  at  the  foot  of  East  Twenty-third  Street.  An 
average  of  seventy-five  pupils  is  found  on  board,  and  the  olfi- 


442 


LIFE   ON   THE   SCHOOL   SHIP   ST.  MARY'S. 


oers  of  the  ship  are  detailed  from  the  United  States  Navy. 
There  is  the  usual  spelling,  reading,  writing,  English  grammar, 
geography,  arithmetic,  and  navigation,  and  in  seamanship  as 
follows :  1.  Making  all  knots,  splices,  hitches,  bends,  clinches, 
etc.,  on  board  ship ;  worming,  parceling,  and  serving  ropes, 
turning    in 


deadeyes,  se- 
curing lan- 
yards, and 
rattling  down 
rigging.  2. 
Learning  the 
names  of  all 
spars,  blocks, 
standing  and 
running  rig- 
ging, and 
their  uses. 
3.  Learning 
the  names  of 
the  different 
parts  of  a  sail, 
bending,  loos- 
ing, furling, 
and  reefing 
sails.  4.  Row- 
ing, sculling,  and  steering  boats,  and  handling  them  under  sail. 
5.  Boxing  compass,  steering  by  compass,  and  taking  compass 
bearings.  6.  Marking  log  and  lead  lines,  heaving  the  lead,  and 
calling  out  soundings  correctly.  7.  Using  palm  and  needle, 
sewing  a  seam,  and  working  an  eyelet-hole.  8.  Swimming. 
9.  The  colors  and  arrangements  of  running  lights. 

The  summer  vacation  is  occupied  by  a  long  cruise,  often  to 
Europe,  and  the  system  has  done  much  to  make  it  impossible 
for  its  graduate  to  fall  into  the  traps  that  always  beset  the  path 
of  Jack  ashore. 

Last  on  the  list  of  methods  for  serving  him  come  the  loan 


LEARNING    TO   SPLICE   ROPES  ON   THE   ST.  MARY  S. 


THE  BAILORS'   SNUG    HARBOR.  443 

libraries,  the  giving  out  of  which  began  in  1859.  Forty-live 
volumes,  most  of  them,  unfortunately,  of  a  rather  heavy  order, 

are  put  up  in  a  neat  wooden  case  and  sent  from  ship  to  ship. 
Forty-live  hundred  of  these  small  libraries  are  now  afloat,  a 
total  of  one  hundred  and  eighty-live  thousand  volumes.  Nearly 
four  hundred  new  libraries  were  sent  to  sea  in  18i)<>,  and  over 
four  hundred  Avere  reshipped,  these  being  used  by  over  ten 
thousand  men,  all  of  whom  call  for  travels,  history,  and  light 
reading,  and  wear  this  portion  of  the  library  out,  the  many 
theological  volumes  remaining  generally  untouched. 

There  are  numerous  Bethels  and  Homes  for  Seamen  in 
active  operation,  and  missionaries  who  understand  Jack  are 
always  about  the  docks  watching  for  incoming  vessels,  ready 
to  give  good  advice  and  a  word  of  warning  to  the  sailor  with 
full  pockets  and  a  mind  to  empty  them  as  fast  as  possible.  By 
this  means  he  is  saved  many  disasters,  and  the  Savings  Bank 
has  more  and  more  depositors. 

Chiefest  among  the  "Homes,"  and  known  to  sailors  in 
all  parts  of  the  world,  is  the  Sailors'  Snug  Harbor  at  Staten 
Island,  where  hundreds  of  seamen  have  cast  anchor,  and,  like 
the  old  whalers  at  New  Bedford  and  Nantucket,  lie  in  dock 
gradually  going  to  pieces  and  glad  of  quiet  harbor. 

The  Sailors'  Snug  Harbor  was  the  gift  of  one  man,  and 
owes  its  origin  to  Captain  Bobert  Richard  Randall,  the  son  of 
a  Scotchman  who  was  captain  of  a  privateer  in  the  Bevolution- 
ary  War.  When  the  Spanish  governor  of  New  Orleans  de- 
clared in  1775  that  his  port  was  open  to  Yankee  privateers, 
Captain  Bandall  appeared  there,  and  in  the  sale  of  many  prizes 
made,  for  those  days,  an  immense  fortune,  all  of  which  was 
left  to  his  son  Bobert.  Bobert  alternated  between  Newr  York 
and  New  Orleans,  preferring  the  climate  of  the  former,  and 
finally  exchanging  estates  with  a  Mr.  Farquhar,  who  was  of 
the  same  mind  as  to  New  Orleans.  In  this  way  Captain  Ban- 
dall— for  the  son  took  the  father's  title  —  came  into  possession 
of  a  large  tract  of  land  between  Eighth  and  Tenth  Streets  on 
Broadway.  Early  in  1801  Captain  Bandall  made  his  will,  and 
Alexander  Hamilton  and  Daniel  Tompkins  drew  it  up.     Many 


444 


TRADITION    VERSUS  FACT. 


legacies  and  annuities  were  arranged  for,  but  the  bulk  of  the 
property  still  remained  untouched,  nor  could  he  determine 
what  use  to  make  of  it. 

"  How  was  the 
money  made?" 
asked  Hamilton. 

"  In  honest  pri- 
vateering." 

"  Then,  as  sail- 
ors made  it,  why 
not  give  it  to  sai-  t 
lors  ? "  said  Hamil- 
ton, and  this  word 
turned  the  scale. 
A  Home  was  pro- 
vided for  seamen, 
and  the  Mayor  and 
Recorder  of  New 
York,  the  Presi- 
dent and  Yice- 
President  of  the 
Chamber  of  Com- 
merce, the  Rector 
of  Trinity  Church, 
and  the  minister 
of  the  First  Pres- 
byterian Church 
were  made  perpet- 
ual trustees. 

For  thirty 
years  the  relatives 
fought     the     case 

from  court  to  court,  till  in  1830  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  Uni- 
ted States  decided  against  them  and  sustained  the  provisions 
of  the  will.  New  York  proved  undesirable,  and  in  1838  a  farm 
of  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres  was  bought  on  Staten  Island, 
and  the  buildings  were  erected  which  stand  to-day  quite  un- 
changed and  absolutely  unlike  an  else  the  country  owns. 


UP   ALOFT. 


A  DRILL   SCEXE   OX   T1IE   ST.  MARY 


AN   OLD    I'K    lloN    M.vrROYED.  445 

The  foreffoini:-  is  history,  —  the  tale  as  it  lias  been  handed 
down  not  only  by  word  of  mouth,  and  that  month  the  com- 
bined voice  of  all  old  New  York,  but  the  actual  record  to  be 
read  of  all  men  in  every  chronicle  of  the  city  to  be  found  on 

library  shelves.  Clute,  who  is  one  of  the  best  authorities, 
gives  it  in  full  detail,  and  the  rest  follow  with  more  or  less 
minuteness.  Yet  no  myth  of  god  or  tale  of  ancient  history  is 
farther  from  the  mark,  and  with  none  is  apparently  less  need 
of  being  so.  It  is  a  mystery  unsolved  and  unsolvable,  why 
tradition  has  stepped  in  and  covered  the  field  so  plainly  the 
property  of  truth,  yet  so  firmly  rooted  is  it  in  every  mind  that 
even  proof  of  the  strongest  hardly  takes  hold. 

It  is  to  Captain  Trask  that  we  owe  the  delving  out  and 
present  orderly  arrangement  of  the  real  story  of  the  Snug 
Harbor.  Like  the  rest  he  accepted  the  old  version  till  forced 
to  believe  that  there  was  a  screw  loose  at  some  point.  For 
months  he  burrowed  in  old  records  with  unfailing  patience 
and  pertinacity,  and  this  is  what  he  found  to  be  the  actual 
state  of  the  case.  So  far  from  being  the  "obscure  Scotchman r 
he  is  made  to  personate,  Robert  Richard  Randall  was  the  son 
of  Thomas  Randall,  a  wealthy  merchant  of  Xew  York  city,  one 
of  the  founders  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  and  one  of  those 
who  drew  up  the  Constitution  of  the  Marine  Society.  Xo  man 
was  more  prominent  in  his  day.  He  was  a  shipmaster  and  had 
fitted  out  many  privateers  in  his  time,  accumulating  thus  a 
considerable  fortune.  When  Washington  came  to  Xew  York, 
Thomas  Randall  was  the  coxswain  of  the  barge,  manned  by 
members  of  the  Marine  Society,  that  rowed  him  ashore. 

His  son  went  into  business  with  him,  the  firm  being  "  Stew- 
art, Randall  &  Son."  He  also  was  a  shipmaster,  and  his 
name  stands  on  the  records  of  the  Marine  Society  and  the 
Chamber  of  Commerce  as  Captain,  that  title  belonging  only  to 
shipmasters.  He  was  a  personal  friend  of  Alexander  Hamil- 
ton, and  co-director  with  him  of  the  Hank  of  New  York,  and 
the  Broadway  property  was  bought  by  him  some  time  before 
his  death. 

As  lifelong  member  of  the   Marine  Society,  his  interest 


446 


UNRELIABLE   HISTORY. 


in  sailors  was  naturally  of  the  strongest,  and  being  a  bachelor 
he  felt  no  urgent  claim  on  his  money  in  any  other  direction,  and 
thus  planned  to  benefit  sailors,  always  the  most  helpless  of 
men  when  off  their  own  element.  It  is  plainly,  then,  an  impos- 
sibility that 
Alexander 
Hamilton 
should  ever 
have  held  the 
conversation 
attributed  to 
him,  or  that 
Captain  Ran- 
dall  could 
have  replied 
as  he  is  cred- 
ited  with 
having'  done. 
Here  was 
a  man  of 
wealth  and 
prominence, 
living  on  one 
of  the  finest 
estates  on 
Manhattan 
Island,  the 

founder  of  a  great  institution,  the  son  of  a  man  still  more 
prominent  in  commercial  life,  and  yet,  eighty -three  years  after 
his  death,  when  they  came  to  erect  a  bronze  statue  on  the 
grounds  of  the  Sailors'  Snug  Harbor,  distorted  legend  and 
fiction  were  all  that  were  left  of  his  memory ;  and  the  sculp- 
tor did  not  dare  to  model  his  bronze  image  in  the  garb  of  a 
sea-captain,  nor  to  carve  the  word  captain  on  the  granite 
pedestal,  and  even  the  place  of  his  burial  was  in  doubt. 

There  is  no  more  doubt.    The  records  of  the  Marine  Society 
show  the  transfer  of  his  body  from  old  St.  Mark's  churchyard 


READY   FOR   SEA.       A   SCENE   ON    THE   ST.    MARY  S. 


JACK  S   DISDAIN   FOR   SMALL  CRAFT. 


447 


to  the  quiet  spot  where  it  lies  to-day,  and  where,  on  the  day  it 
was  borne  to  this  final  resting  place,  all  the  old  sailors  in 
uniform   stood    bare-headed   as    their    benefactor    passed    up 


through  the  long 


ranks  massed  about  the  gates.     Never  was 


memory  more  beclouded  in  the  minds  of  men  he  sought  to  help, 
and  both  \vr-  _^ 


en  here  as  an 
illustration  of  ; 

the  difficul-  i 
ties  the  mod-  r 
ern  historian 
must  some- 
times face. 

At  the 
Snug  1 1 arbor 
dock  at  Least 
a  dozen  old 
salts  are  gen- 
erally in  wait- 


wit  li  baskets 
and  other  ar- 
ticles of  their 
own  making 
to  sell;  others 
readv  to  man 


PEACEFUL    INDUSTRIES     AT    THE     BAILORS      SNUG     HARBOR. 
OLD    SAILORS   MAKING    MINIATURE    SHITS. 


a  boat  or  perform  any  service  as  guide.  At  the  end  of  the 
dock,  others  more  indifferent  to  gain  sit  and  look  off  at  the 
shipping,  generally  with  profound  disdain.  At  this  point  the 
island  is  separated  from  the  Jersey  shore  by  a  narrow  strait 
known  as  the  Kill  von  Kull,  whither  only  small  craft  repair, 
and  the  sailors,  accustomed  to  square-rigged  vessels, —  ships, 
brigs,  and  barques, — refuse  to  recognize  fore-and-aft  rigging 
and  look  bevond  to  the  tall  masts  of  out-£oin£  vessels. 

Leaving  them  behind,  one  comes  in  a  few  moments  to  wide- 
shaven  lawns  and  old  trees,  back  of  which  rise  the  many  build- 


448  BREEZY   SERMONS  AND   SLEEPY   SAILORS. 

ings  in  which  Robert  Randall's  bequest  does  its  work.  The 
main  buildings  are  each  65  feet  long  and  100  deep ;  the  wings, 
51  by  100,  the  five  making  an  entire  frontage  of  five  hundred 
feet.  Back  of  these  is  the  hospital  of  gray  sandstone,  and  the 
many  buildings  occupied  by  the  governor,  chaplain,  and  other 
officials.  This  hospital  is  said  to  have  a  perfect  system  of  ven- 
tilation, and  delegations  of  sanitary  experts  come  to  study  its 
workings. 

Facing  the  main  entrance  is  a  monument,  a  square  block  of 
granite  with  inscriptions  on  the  four  sides.  A  flat  obelisk,  look- 
ing a  little  stunted  as  to  growth,  is  on  top,  the  whole  an  almost 
exact  copy  of  the  monument  to  Alexander  Hamilton  in  Trinity 
churchyard.  This  was  the  first  memorial  of  the  founder,  whose 
bones  lie  beneath,  and  the  second  is  a  statue  by  St.  Gaudens, 
erected  in  1883.  It  is  of  bronze  and  has  a  pedestal  of  polished 
granite,  and  seven  years  ago  the  spot  where  it  stands  was  mere 
swamp  land,  which  under  the  admirable  administration  of 
Captain  Trask,  has  been  made  to  blossom  like  the  rose.  Back 
of  this  is  a  little  lake  where  the  old  sailors  try  their  small 
vessels  before  sails  are  made,  and  along  the  edge  of  the  lawn 
are  small  brick  cottages,  where  the  fortunate  employes  of  the 
institution  find  as  snug  a  harbor  as  the  sailors. 

The  little  church  is  half  concealed  by  trees.  Its  chaplain, 
Dr.  Jones,  ran  away  from  his  English  home  in  boyhood,  and 
for  years  went  before  the  mast  as  sailor.  In  time  his  mind 
turned  toward  theology  and  he  resolved  to  become  a  mission- 
ary. From  this,  after  some  experience,  he  returned  to  the  sail- 
ors, whose  life  he  knew  and  for  whom  few  cared,  and  for  many 
years  was  minister  in  the  Mariner's  Church  near  the  Exchange. 
Subsequently,  he  received  the  appointment  to  the  Harbor,  and 
whoever  would  see  one  of  its  most  distinctive  features  should 
go  down  in  time  for  service.  The  chaplain's  illustrations  are 
all  nautical,  and  his  sermons  of  the  most  vigorous  order,  but 
many  of  the  old  salts  who  listen  care  but  little,  and  nod  and 
careen  to  slumber  peacefully  on  some  comrade's  shoulder,  or 
straggle  out  after  a  time  and  settle  under  the  trees. 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  about  them  things  to  me  ! "  said  one  crusty 


A    FISH    STORY. 

old  salt,  after  an  appeal  for  audience  from  the  chaplain.  "  I've 
been  without  'em  sixty  year,  an5  I  reckon  I  kin  stan'  it  for  a 
year  or  two  Longer." 

In  this  village  of  quite  one  thousand  souls  the  first  thing 
that  imp  s  3  i  'tie  is  the  extraordinary  cleanliness  of  the  whole, 
a  neatness  that  is  almost  painful  The  old  captains  laid  up 
here  remember  their  methods  on  shipboard,  and  demand  tloors 
as  white  and  spotless  as  the  decks  of  their  own  ships.  Enter- 
ing the  great  hall  of  the  central  building  one  finds  the  same 
dainty  spotlessness,  and  a  sweep  of  pure  air  straight  from  the 
sea.  This  is  the  show-place  of  the  institution.  The  roof  is 
frescoed  with  ropes  and  anchors  and  sails  ;  masts  and  spars  on 
which  birds  of  all  countries  perch,  and  Old  Neptune  keeping 
guard  over  all.  Fanlights  and  sidelights  are  of  stained  glass 
with  nautical  designs,  and  in  a  series  of  blue-glass  windows 
near  the  vaulted  roof  are  eight  of  the  principal  constellations. 
Over  the  main  entrance  is  a  sun-burst,  so  arranged  with  mir- 
rors behind  it  that  it  acts  as  a  sun-dial,  the  light  from  it  falling 
on  the  inlaid  star  in  the  centre  of  the  hall  floor. 

Opening  off  from  this  hall  is  the  library  and  reading-room, 
and  all  the  offices  of  the  institution  are  in  this  main  building, 
the  dining-rooms  being  just  back  of  the  hall,  and  the  dormi- 
tories in  the  wings.  Each  room  holds  two  men  and  two  beds, 
and  there  are  bathrooms  on  each  floor. 

The  problem  of  feeding  eight  hundred  people  at  once  has 
been  found  a  troublesome  one  to  grapple  with.  To  serve  food 
enough  for  this  number,  promptly  and  well  cooked,  demands 
all  the  resources  of  the  kitchen.  Things  that  can  be  cooked 
by  the  quantity  are  easily  managed,  but  broiling  or  more  deli- 
cate operations  are  impossible.  Once,  so  many  longed  for  fried 
fish  that  Captain  Trask  determined  they  should  have  it,  and 
gave  his  orders  to  the  cook  accordingly.  At  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning  the  whole  force  of  the  kitchen  turned  to,  and  by  dint 
of  hard  work  had  by  twelve  o'clock  fried  enough  fish  to  make 
a  beginning  for  all.  but  at  this  point  the  caterer  became  dis- 
couraged and  swore  never  to  make  the  experiment  again,  — two 
days'  work  being  necessary  to  provide  a  full  supply  for  all. 


450 


IN   THE   WORKROOMS. 


But  the  bill  of  fare  is  varied  and  abundant.  The  eight  hund- 
red, whether  captains  or  the  men  they  may  have  commanded, 
sit  side  by  side,  and  each  is  served  alike  by  the  waiters,  who 
watch  the  plates  to  see  that  all  fare  equally  well. 

In  the  basement,  baskets,  mats,  and  hammocks  are  made, 
and  last  year  some  thirty  thousand  dollars  was  received  from 
this  source,  averaging  about  seventy-five  dollars  a  head.     This 

belongs  to 


the     men 

themselves, 
who  pay  for 
all  materials 
and  use  the 
returns  in 
such  way  as 
best  pleases 
them. 

The  crip- 
ples of  the  in- 
stitution are 
provided 
with  w  heel 
chairs  and  ea- 
sily  move 
through  the 
corridors  and 
along  the 
smooth  roads 
outside.  Un- 
der the  eaves 

of  some  of  the  buildings  are  workrooms  for  their  exclusive 
use,  and  here  they  make  work-baskets  and  nets.  Here,  too, 
for  a  long  time  was  the  iron  cage  for  the  one  prisoner  of  the 
Home,  who  could  be  dealt  with  in  no  other  way. 

"  It  was  just  a  case  of  pure  cussedness,"  explained  an  old 
sailor  with  long  white  curls  and  a  wooden  leg,  which  he  waved 
parenthetically.     "  He  knowed  all  the  ropes,  an'  he'd  sailed  to 


A   CRIPPLED   SAILOR   WEAVING    BASKETS   AT   THE   SAILORS* 
SNUG   HARBOR. 


AN    OLD   SAILOR  S   MARVELOUS    SKILL. 


451 


all  the  ports  there  is,  hut  he  couldn't  seem  to  hold  hisself  in. 
He'd  take  a  turn  an1  hauWll  the  aged  Infirm  outs  out  o'  bed, 
an' the  colder  the  day  the  better,  an'  leave  'em   lyin'  on  the 

floor.  lie  wouldn't  take  no  pains  to  reform,  neither,  an'  so  they 
had  to  keep  him,  off  an*  on,  in  the  cage,  an'  he  not  mindin', 
but  just  layin'  to  doit  agin  fust  chance  he  got,  which  is  what 
he  did  every  time." 


=r  \ 


A  ONE-ARMED  NAVAL  VETERAN  WITH  A  PERFECT  MODEL  OF  THE  FLAGSHIP 
"HARTFORD,"  MADE  WITH  HIS  LEFT  HAND. 

There  are  old  boatswains  whose  mouths  seem  always  puck- 
ered for  the  whistle,  "piping  the  side."  One  old  captain  has 
in  his  room  —  a  truly  nautical  one — small  craft  of  all  kinds, 
the  product  of  his  jackknife,  standing  on  chests  and  even  dec- 
orating the  passageway.  Some  of  the  miniature  vessels  made 
by  these  old  salts  are  wonderful  exhibits  of  patient  skill. 
In  a  little  room  under  a  skylight  at  the  top  of  one  of  the  build- 
ings was  —  during  a  recent  visit  —  AVin.  Graham,  a  one-armed 
naval  veteran  of  Commodore  Farragut's  fleet,  an  ingenious  and 


452 

intelligent  man,  who  with  his  left  hand  had  just  completed, 
after  two  years'  faithful  labor,  a  perfect  model  of  the  famous 
old  flag-ship  Hartford.  Every  block  and  rope  was  in  work- 
ing order,  every  gun  in  its  place  between  decks.  In  equip- 
ment, rigging,  and  armament  the  model  is  an  exact  fac-simile 
of  its  renowned  prototype,  all  measurements  being  mathemati- 
cally calculated,  thus  giving  the  model  the  true  proportions  and 
a  faithful  appearance  of  the  old  war  ship. 

For  a  long  time  one  object  of  interest  was  James  Spencer, 
the  last  survivor  of  the  American  frigate  "  Essex,"  which  in 
1812  fought  two  British  cruisers  in  the  harbor  of  Valparaiso. 
Commodore  Farragut  was  at  that  time  a  middy  on  the  Essex, 
and  as  long  as  he  lived  retained  an  affection  for  the  old  man, 
who  always  went  to  see  him  when  in  port.  At  the  last  meet- 
ing Jim  reported  how  he  found  him. 

"  The  Admiral  was  a-sittin'  on  a  sofy.  i  Jim,'  says  he  to 
me,  '  You  an'  me's  got  nearly  into  port !  I  wonder  which  on 
us  will  fetch  up  first.'  I  said  naught,  but  I  suspicioned  how  it 
would  be,  an'  it  was." 

The  Admiral's  death  took  place  in  a  few  days.  Spencer 
insisted  on  going  to  the  funeral,  though  in  a  driving  rain ;  took 
cold,  and  speedily  died. 

For  many  years  Captain  Benjamin  Gardiner  was  in  com- 
mand of  the  Cross-Rip  lightship  in  Vineyard  Sound,  a 
dangerous  locality  where  many  a  lightship  anchored  here  to 
warn  passing  vessels  has  itself  been  lost.  Other  vessels  could 
lie  safely  under  the  lee  of  the  shore  in  the  gale,  but  there  was 
no  lee  for  him.  When  he  parted  his  chains  in  a  gale,  he  was 
sure  of  "fetching  up"  as  he  described  it,  on  the  shores  of  Cape 
Cod  or  Martha's  Vineyard,  or  on  the  reefs  of  Nantucket 
Shoals.  His  orders,  he  said,  were  "to  go  up  or  down,"  by 
which  was  no  doubt  meant  that  he  should  either  sink  or  go 
ashore  rather  than  drift  about  and  thus  mislead  the  passing 
mariner.  Captain  Gardiner  lost  two  ships  during  his  long 
term  of  service,  but  saved  his  crew  both  times,  and  was  fre- 
quently adrift  in  the  gale.  Once  he  was  compelled  to  make 
an  involuntary  cruise  of  forty-two  days,  during  which  he  says 


IXVADIN<;   a   SHIPS  PANTRY. 


453 


he  was  "a-driftin5  all  around  the  lot."  While  on  his  station  he 
was  often  run  down  in  thick  weather,  and  the  honest  old  sailor 
waxed  indignant  when  he  described  the  ignorance  exhibited  by 

passing  skippers  of  the  position  of  their  vessels.  On  one  occa- 
sion, the  weather  being  thick,  he  was  struck  by  a  full-rigged 
ship  a  glancing  blow,  but  powerful  enough  to  drive  the  bows 
of  the  vessel  into  the  pantry  of  the  lightship.  "I  come  a-run- 
nin'  on  deck,"  said  Captain  Gardiner,  describing  the  incident, 
"an'  I  sings  out  to  the  captain,  'What  are  yon  a-trvin'  to 
do?'  'I'm  a-trvin  to  find  the 
(  i .  >ss-Kip,5  says  he.  'Well,  you've 
found  it  now,  and  the  lightship, 
too.'  says  I ;  'an5  you  kin  just  keep 
out  o'  my  pantry,  fur  yon  aint  got 
no  business  in  there/  Then  he 
sheered  off." 

Old  Captain  Brown,  once  ship- 
owner and  a  famous  sailor,  raises 
watermelons,  which  he  peddles 
about  the  village  or  at  the  dock. 
His  frequent  companion  was 
"darkey  Pcnhe,"  an  old  negro 
sailor,  who  from  herbs  whose  name  he  would  never  divulge, 
made  what  he  called  "  Universal  Drops."  b  Bane  and  antidote 
thus  walked  side  by  side,  and  often  the  customer  for  one 
bought  the  other  purely  for  a  joke,  which  thus  perpetuated 
itself. 

It  is  the  hospital  that  holds  the  most  pathetic  cases ;  the 
sad  endings  of  the  invalids,  paralytic  or  dying  of  sheer  ex- 
haustion, whose  voices  once  rune?  out  above  the  howling  of  the 
storm,  and  who  have  faced  danger  in  every  form.  Saddest  of 
all  is  the  corner  of  the  pavilion  where  the  few  insane  wait  their 
release.  To  tell  the  story  of  even  one  would  mean  many 
pages.  Even  for  the  most  contented  it  is  a  dreary  life,  and  of 
late  it  has  been  much  questioned  if  the  enormous  income  of 
nearly  half  a  million  dollars  yearly  might  not  better  be  divided 
up  into  pensions,  and  thus  allow  its  beneficiaries  to  live  with 


'iff'  '■■■!.  .       t*  *~\^-    £rr 


wm> 


A    CONTENTED   OLD    SALT. 


454  A  PEACEFUL  HOME. 

relatives  and  have  more  human  interests  than  are  now  possi- 
ble. At  present  the  Snug  Harbor  remains  the  only  institution 
of  the  kind  in  the  world.  No  sailors  from  steam  vessels  are 
admitted.  Naturally  Captain  Randall  had  no  premonition  of 
the  change  so  near,  and  though,  as  in  a  recent  case,  sailors  on 
steam  vessels  may  have  served  a  lifetime,  they  are  not  eligible. 
Two  men  who  had  been  forty  years  in  the  navy, —  one  of 
them  in  the  fire-room  —  had  regularly  paid  from  their  wages 
the  dues  required  from  all  sailors  for  the  Marine  Hospital, 
but  had  saved  nothing.  Both  were  rejected  and  cast  adrift, 
and  this  case  has  attracted  such  attention  that  it  is  hoped  it 
may  serve  to  bring  about  an  alteration  of  the  system.  In  the 
meantime  eight  hundred  find  a  peaceful  home,  and  names  are 
always  waiting  to  fill  vacancies  and  take  their  turn  on  the 
benches  under  the  great  trees,  where  through  all  the  summer 
days  the  old  salts  sit,  their  jaws  keeping  time,  and  their  eyes 
fixed  on  the  distant  horizon. 


IPPIT. 
WX. 


=iS>^    ffiiiTWl 


J  * 


:^U 


<455) 


/%^f<^<-^/^C^ 


I 
I 


1***"*" 


B5BHS 


DmiGHT 


PART  II. 


BY 


/%r<^T;7(^ 


^yr. 


CHAPTEE   XXIY. 

STREET  LIFE  — THE  BOWERY   BY   DAY   AND   BY  NIGHT  — LIFE 
IX   BAXTER   AND  CHATHAM   STREETS. 

A  Street  Where  Silence  Never  Reigns  — Where  Poverty  and  Millions 
Touch  Elbows — "Sparrow-Chasers" — Fifth  Avenue  —  The  Home  of 
Wealth  and  Fashion  — Life  on  the  Bowery  —  Pit  and  Peanuts  — 
Pelted  with  Rotten  Eggs  —  Concert  Halls  —  Police  Raids  —  Dime  Muse- 
ums and  their  Freaks — Fraud  and  Impudence  —  Outcasts  of  the  Bowery 

—  Beer  Gardens — Slums  of  the  Bowery  —  Night  Scenes  on   the  Streets 

—  Pickpockets  and  Crooks  —  Ragpickers  and  their  Foul  Trade  —  "The 
Black  and  Tan"  —  A  Dangerous  Place — "  Makin'  a  Fortin' "  —  "Razors 
in  the  Air"- "Keep  yer  Jints  Well  lied"  — The  Old  Clo'  Shops  of 
Chatham  Street  —  Blarney  and  Cheating. 

BROADWAY  is  the  artery  through  which  pulsates  a  great 
part  of  the  life-blood  of  the  city.  The  crowd  that  con- 
stantly surges  through  it  is  greater  in  numbers  and  steadier  in 
its  flow  than  anything  London  or  Paris  can  show,  and  it  mixes 
up  the  most  dissimilar  elements  of  nationality  and  condition. 
The  night  is  never  so  dark  or  so  stormy  that  the  footfall  of 
pedestrians  and  the  rumbling  of  vehicles  are  altogether  hushed. 
The  life  of  Broadway  varies  greatly  with  the  hours  of  the 

(459) 


460  SIGHTS  AND  SCENES  ON  BROADWAY. 

day.  In  the  very  early  morning  it  is  nearly  deserted,  save  by 
belated  wanderers  and  those  whose  occupations  call  them 
abroad  in  advance  of  the  great  mass  of  their  fellow-men.  Soon 
after  five  o'clock  there  are  unmistakable  signs  of  movement, 
and  as  six  o'clock  approaches  men  of  rough  garb  come  from 
various  directions,  walking  hurriedly  along.  They  are  the  por- 
ters, engine-drivers,  sweepers,  boys,  and  others  whose  labors 
are  chiefly  manual  in  the  stores  and  shops  that  line  the  great 
street. 

As  time  goes  on  this  crowd  thins  and  another  takes  its 
place.  Clerks,  shop-girls,  salesmen,  and  others  who  are  ex- 
pected to  be  on  duty  at  eight  o'clock  largely  compose  the  new 
throng.  They  are  followed  by  those  whose  duties  begin  at 
nine  o'clock  or  thereabouts,  and  these  again  by  the  heads  of 
establishments  who  think  they  are  in  good  season  if  they 
arrive  at  their  destinations  at  ten.  Later  come  the  owners  and 
magnates  whose  homes  are  in  the  aristocratic  part  of  the  city, 
and  who  are  supposed  to  do  pretty  much  as  they  like.  They 
are  early  if  they  reach  their  offices  by  eleven  o'clock ;  some  do 
not  appear  until  noon ;  and  some  only  go  to  business  two 
or  three  times  a  week. 

One  is  reminded  in  this  connection  of  the  story  of  the 
countryman  who  visited  "Washington  in  the  time  of  President 
Jackson,  and  on  his  return  home  gave  to  his  friends  an  account 
of  the  dinner  customs  of  the  capital  of  the  nation. 

"  The  workingmen,"  said  he,  "  dine  at  one  o'clock,  the  clerks 
at  two,  the  big  officers  at  three,  the  representatives  at  four,  the 
senators  at  Rve,  and  the  officers  of  the  cabinet  at  six." 

"  What  time  does  Old  Hickory  eat  his  dinner  ? "  asked  an 
open-mouthed  listener. 

"  Oh !  the  old  man  doesn't  dine  till  next  day,"  was  the 
prompt  reply. 

Until  ten  o'clock  the  stream  of  travel  on  Broadway  is 
southward,  especially  in  the  hours  between  six  and  nine. 
About  three  o'clock  it  sets  upward,  beginning  with  those  who 
came  down  latest  and  ending  with  those  who  came  first. 

People  of  all  ages  and  both  sexes  compose  the  never-ending 


WEALTH    AND    POVERTY   SIDE   BY    SIDE.  461 

throng,  and  here  may  be  Been  all  ages  and  all  conditions 
of  life.  The  thin-featured  shop-girl,  or  worker  in  a  down- 
town factory,  whose  shawl  is  drawn  around  a  shrinking  form 

that  tells  plainly  of  low  diet,  hard  work,  and  bad  lodgings,  is 
jostled  by  a  woman  on  whom  fortune  has  smiled  if  we  may 
judge  by  her  costly  apparel  and  the  absence  of  care  on  her 
face.  Here  is  a  merchant  or  banker  whose  fortune  is  counted 
in  millions;  near  him  is  a  clerk  whose  salary  is  too  small  for 
the  comfortable  support  of  his  family,  and  whose  head  is  pre- 
maturely whitened  by  the  cares  that  have  fallen  upon  it. 
The  former  walks  with  an  easy,  dignified  pace,  while  the  latter 
rushes  alon^  with  his  head  bowed  and  his  mind  evidently  in  a 
state  of  perplexity.  Clerks,  millionaires,  merchants  of  all  kind 
and  degree,  speculators,  idlers,  countrymen,  and  here  and 
there  a  thief  or  other  "  crook,"  make  up  the  forms  that  till  the 
kaleidoscope  to  be  seen  any  day  along  Broadway. 

In  the  two  miles  of  distance  from  the  Battery  to  Union 
Square  the  scene  on  Broadway  is  pretty  much  alike.  In 
Union  Square  one  finds  relief  under  the  shady  trees,  listening 
to  the  play  of  the  fountains,  and  watching  the  children,  nurse- 
maids, and  loungers  that  fill  the  place  on  pleasant  afternoons 
in  summer. 

Is  there  a  prettier  bit  of  green  in  any  city  in  the  whole 
world  than  Madison  Square?  I  am  not  referring  to  its  area, 
as  it  is  a  mere  garden-patch  compared  to  Central  Park,  but  to 
its  general  aspect  of  beauty  in  the  center  of  the  great  city. 
The  trees  are  leafy  and  give  a  welcome  shade ;  the  grass  is  of 
the  deepest  green;  the  paths  are  of  asphalt;  the  nursemaids 
are  pretty,  the  children  are  prettier,  and  the  maidens  and 
matrons  that  pass  are  of  the  prettiest ;  the  statues  are  historic 
and  patriotic;  the  buildings  that  surround  and  make  the 
square  are  stately;  and  the  carriages  and  other  vehicles  that 
roll  along  the  streets  and  avenues  have  a  cheerful  aspect.  If 
the  day  is  pleasant  the  seats  in  the  park  are  Idled,  and  there 
are  no  distinctions  so  long  as  there  is  good  behavior.  At 
night  the  tramp  hies  hither  for  sleep,  and  but  for  the  inter- 
ference of  the  gray -coated  park  policemen,  nicknamed  "  spar- 


462  ALONG  THE  BOWERY. 

row-chasers,"  who  rap  rudely  on  the  boot-soles  of  the  slum- 
berer,  the  tramp  would  enjoy  the  park  much  more  than  he 
does. 

Fifth  Avenue  is  the  great  show  street  of  the  metropolis. 
Early  in  the  century  Fashion  had  its  home  at  the  Battery  and 
on  lower  Broadway,  and  many  of  the  buildings  now  used  for 
offices  and  tenements  once  resounded  to  the  laughter  of  belles 
and  beaux  and  were  the  scenes  of  gay  and  festive  life. 

But  business  has  invaded  these  once  fashionable  quarters, 
and  now  all  the  way  to  Forty-second  Street  Fashion  is  fast 
disappearing  before  the  steady  advance  of  Commerce.  A  few 
of  the  old  houses  remain  untouched,  but  the  tide  is  irresistible 
and  the  world  moves.  Superb  carriages  still  roll  along  the 
avenue,  and  in  the  afternoon  there  is  a  throng  of  promenaders, 
though  it  is  less  dense  than  the  active,  rushing  throng  of  lower 
Broadway. 

The  Bowery  has  a  course  parallel  in  a  general  way  to  the 
great  thoroughfare,  Broadway,  but  the  course  is  the  only 
feature  in  which  a  parallel  exists.  In  population,  shops, 
theatres,  manners,  customs,  and  everything  else,  the  Bowery 
and  Broadway  are  wholly  dissimilar.  The  Bowery  is  in- 
tensely German  in  character.  German  beer  saloons,  German 
shops  of  every  name  and  kind,  German  theatres  and  concert- 
halls,  German  banks,  and  other  German  institutions  innumer- 
able abound  here. 

There  wTas  nothing  more  characteristic  of  the  Bowery  in  its 
prime  than  the  Old  Bowery  Theatre.  My  first  visit  to  it  was 
made  more  than  thirty  years  ago,  when  the  place  was  in  the 
height  of  its  glory,  but  the  scenes  are  as  vivid  as  though  it  were 
but  yesterday. 

Admission  to  the  pit  was  twelve  and  a  half  cents.  The  pit 
exists  no  more  in  any  of  the  theatres,  its  place  having  been 
taken  by  the  parquette ;  and  instead  of  being  the  cheapest  part 
of  the  house  it  is  now  the  dearest,  with  the  exception  of  the 
dress  circle  and  private  boxes.  The  pit  of  the  old  Bowery  was 
generally  filled  with  newsboys,  bootblacks,  and  other  young- 
sters, or  with  older  patrons  of  the  same  general  character. 


AN  OLD-TIME  BOWERY    AUDIENCE.  463 

Nearly  all  the  patrons  of  the  pit  removed  their  coats  on  enter- 
ing and  sat  upon  them  throughout  the  performance,  partly  for 
the  purpose  of  cushioning  the  hard  seats,  and  partly  to  prevent 
those  garments  from  being  stolen.  The  occupants  of  the  pit 
were  evidently  fond  of  peanuts,  as  all  who  could  afford  the 
outlay  had  a  paper  bag  full  of  them,  which  were  eaten  during 
and  between  the  acts,  the  shells  being  thrown  on  the  floor. 

W  hen  a  favorite  actor  entered  he  was  greeted  with  three 
cheers,  given  in  a  somewhat  disorderly  fashion.  Woe  to  the 
unfortunate  actor  who  became  unpopular  with  the  "  boys." 
lie  was  received  with  cat-calls,  hisses,  and  other  demonstrations 
of  dissatisfaction,  and  they  were  so  loud  and  prolonged  that  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  proceed  w^ith  his  part.  Occasionally 
he  was  the  recipient  of  solid  remonstrances  in  addition  to  vocal 
ones ;  they  took  the  shape  of  eggs  or  vegetables  that  had  passed 
their  period  of  usefulness,  or  of  wads  made  of  the  bags  that  had 
contained  peanuts  or  other  delicacies.  If  an  actor  became  un- 
popular beyond  hope  of  redemption,  his  contract  was  canceled 
by  the  manager,  as  it  was  useless  for  him  to  continue  in  the 
theatre.  All  the  actors  at  this  theatre  fully  understood  the 
situation ;  in  the  language  of  the  time  they  "  played  to  the  pit " 
just  as  in  many  opera-houses  to-day,  the  world  over,  the  tenor 
and  the  prima  donna  are  said  to  "  sing  to  the  boxes." 

Heavy  tragedy  and  blood-curdling  melodrama  were  the 
favorite  performances  at  the  Old  Bowery;  broadsword  duels 
and  the  like  were  sure  of  applause, —  in  fact  there  was  a  strong 
predilection  for  mimic  bloodshed  or  deep-seated  quarrels  in 
which  heavy -toned  actors  launched  at  each  other  the  most 
bitter  imprecations  and  the  most  terrible  threats. 

One  night  I  visited  this  theatre  to  see  an  actress  who  had 
achieved  great  popularity.  In  one  of  the  scenes  she  sang  a 
pretty  little  solo  and  was  naturally  called  upon  for  an  encore. 
For  the  encore  she  sang  "Up  in  a  Balloon,"  at  that  time  a 
popular  air,  and  one  that  all  the  street  urchins  were  humming. 
When  she  reached  the  end  of  a  stanza  she  paused  a  moment 
and  then  said, 

"  Now,  boys,  join  me  in  the  chorus." 


464  SAUCE  FOR  THE  POOR. 

The  boys  responded  to  the  invitation,  and  the  chorus  could 
have  been  heard  a  dozen  blocks  away.  It  was  easy  to  see  how 
the  actress  had  gained  her  popularity  with  the  occupants  of 
pit  and  gallery. 

Even  to-day  one  can  nowhere  else  find  such  cosmopolitan 
audiences,  whether  at  the  theatres  which  boast  that  they  keep 
open  doors  and  have  full  houses  all  the  year  round,  or  in  the 
little  halls  with  a  big  bar  at  one  end  and  a  tiny  stage  at  the 
other,  which  finds  it  necessary  to  pander  to  a  demand  for 
amusement  with  drinks.  The  Bowery  theatres  still  find  that  it 
pays  best  to  present  heavy  tragedy,  such  as  thrilled  the  soul  of 
the  Bowery  boy  years  ago,  or  to  go  to  the  other  extreme  and 
dazzle  his  eyes  with  a  variety  show  whose  changes  are 
kaleidoscopic.  In  either  case  the  actors  are  gorgeous  of  attire 
and  dash  through  their  parts  with  a  vim  which  shows  that 
they  are  not  yet  wearied  out  with  the  race. 

There  is  not  much  in  the  performance  on  the  stage  to  cause 
either  laughter  or  tears,  and  yet  everybody  is  in  the  full  tide  of 
enjoyment,  and  the  most  indifferent  of  spectators  could  not  but 
smile  at  the  heartiness  of  the  applause.  The  boys  in  the  gal- 
lery loudly  proclaim  their  sympathies  with  the  heroine,  and  the 
people  in  parquette  and  orchestra-chairs  laugh  aloud  or  chatter 
audibly  over  the  plot.  Here  is  a  young  couple  in  shopworn 
clothes  —  she  works  in  a  cigar  factory  and  he  is  the  driver  of 
an  ice-cart  —  whose  sole  extravagance  is  a  night  every  week  at 
the  theatre,  and  neither  would  miss  it  for  the  world.  Why 
not  ?  Is  the  bread  of  the  poor  always  to  be  eaten  without 
sauce  ? 

The  actors  in  the  cheap  museums  and  on  the  Bowery  music 
hall  stage  are  often  broken-down  men  and  disappointed  women, 
whose  only  art  now  is  to  hide  from  the  audience  that  they  are 
near  the  end  of  a  bitter  struggle  for  daily  bread.  Many  of  them 
live  in  garrets  and  sup  at  the  cheapest  restaurants,  and  some  of 
them,  I  know,  started  in  life  with  the  brightest  of  hopes. 

By  eleven  o'clock  the  Bowery  is  in  full  blast.  The  glare  of 
the  numerous  electric  lights  is  so  bright  that  one  has  no  diffi- 
culty in  making  out  the  faces  and  dresses  of  the  nocturnal  prom- 


BOWERY   CONCERT   HALLS. 


405 


enaders.  Many  odd  characters  drift  past  in  the  crowd;  adver- 
tising handbills  without  number  are  thrust  upon  us;  our  ears 
are  assailed  by  the  deafening  tramp  of  feet  and  the  never-end- 
ing crash  of  wheels;  misery  and  merriment,  pomp  and  poverty, 
in  various  shapes,  rile 
before  us. 

Most  of  the  stores 
are  open,  few  of  the 
throng  think  of  go- 
ing home  while  shop- 
w  in d o  w  s ,  theatre- 
fronts,  and  concert- 
halls  are  yet  so  at- 
tractive, and  the  mid- 
night marauder  who 
can  operate  only  in 
the  early  hours  of 
morning  is  still  slink- 


ing behind  a  coal-box 
around  the  corner. 

Concert-halls  and 
Dime  Museumsthrive 
on  the  Bowery.  The 
ordinary  concert-hall 
is  a  place  where  no 
respectable  man 
would  like  to  be  seen 
by  any  one  for  whose 
opinion  he  has  any 
regard.  Their  frequenters  are  dissolute  men  of  all  ages,  but 
more  often  young  clerks  and  mechanics,  together  with  strangers 
and  rural  visitors  who  think  they  are  "  seeing  city  life."  Beer 
and  cheap  liquors  are  dispensed,  vulgar  songs  are  accompanied 
by  wretched  music,  and  the  surroundings  and  influences  are 
generally  low  and  vile.  The  attendants  at  the  tables  are  often 
disreputable  women  who  are  fit  associates  for  dissolute  patrons. 

The  monotony  of  these  establishments  is  occasionally  varied 


EXTERIOR   OF   A   BOWERY   DIME    MUSEUM. 


466  THE  ATTRACTIONS  OF  A  DIME  MUSEUM. 

by  a  raid  by  the  police,  when  every  person  found  within  is 
locked  up  in  the  station-house  and  must  take  his  slumbers  on  a 
bare  plank  until  next  morning,  when  he  may  be  sent  to  Black- 
well's  Island  or  let  off  with  a  heavy  fine.  Concert-halls  of  this 
class  abound  in  the  Bowery  and  adjacent  streets,  and  nests  of 
them  are  to  be  found  in  many  portions  of  the  city. 

The  Dime  Museums  are  a  conspicuous  feature  of  the  Bow- 
ery, but  they  are  not  entirely  confined  to  it.  Their  name  tells 
the  price  of  admission,  one  dime ;  their  attractions  are  of  the 
sort  classed  as  "  freaks,"  and  not  infrequently  the  proprietors 
combine  swindling  and  robbery  with  other  sources  of  revenue. 
Above  and  on  each  side  of  the  doors  of  these  museums  are  large 
and  gaudy  paintings  on  which  the  wonders  to  be  seen  within 
are  elaborately  represented,  and  the  chief  wonder  is  oftentimes 
the  liberality  of  the  outside  display  compared  with  the  paucity 
within.  The  external  promise  is  far  in  advance  of  the  internal 
performance,  but  if  one  asks  for  a  return  of  his  money  on  ac- 
count of  non-fulfillment  of  contract,  he  is  not  likely  to  get  it. 
The  amount  of  the  admission  fee  is  so  small  that  nobody  cares 
to  make  a  fuss  about  it,  and  therefore  it  is  of  no  consequence 
how  much  the  visitor  is  defrauded.  I  have  visited  a  dime  mu- 
seum where  not  one-fifth  of  the  freaks  represented  on  the  out- 
side placards  were  on  exhibition;  when  I  asked  where  they 
were,  the  doorkeeper  replied,  with  a  broad  grin  his  face,  that 
they  had  "  gone  to  the  country  for  their  'ealth." 

The  lilies  of  the  field  and  the  freaks  in  a  dime  museum  are 
much  alike.  No  work  is  done  by  either.  The  museum  owner, 
always  a  handsome  man  with  a  fierce  mustache  and  large  dia- 
monds, stands  near  the  door,  and  close  to  him  a  second-rate 
dwarf,  dressed  as  a  policeman,  club  in  hand,  shouts  out  direc- 
tions about  keeping  order.  A  mermaid  stuffed  and  dried, 
swings  from  a  nail  on  the  wall,  and  a  fat  woman,  discharged 
for  losing  weight,  comes  in  to  collect  what  is  due  her. 

The  first  object  that  greets  you  inside  is  usually  the  tattooed 
man.  He  looks  defiant,  but  he  really  is  cheap,  for  a  method 
has  been  discovered  of  tattooing  him  by  electricity,  so  that  a 
large  part  of  him  can  be  highly  ornamented  in  one  afternoon. 


FREAKS   AND    li:\(  DS. 


•i'.; 


Next  to  the  tattooed  man  is  the  Lecturer,  a  very  important 
being,  who  explains  and  dilates  upon  the  attractions  of  the  col- 
Lection,  and  who  passes  with  the  grace  of  a  Chesterfield  from 
the  charms  of  the  fat  woman  to  the  rare  qualities  of  the  man 

who  eats  glass.  Then  come  two  dwarfs,  who  prefer  to  be 
alluded  to  as  midgets,  and  then  the  Albino,  a  gentleman  with 
pure  white  hair  and  pink  eyes.  The  bearded  lady,  who  is  to 
he  pitied  because  she  is  hardly  ever  admired  and  her  sex  usually 
doubted,  stands  beside  the  living  skeleton. 


IN    A    BOWEBT    DIME    MUSEUM.       THE     LECTURER,    HIS    FREAKS,    AND    HIS 

AUDIENCE. 

Here,  too,  is  said  to  be  the  smallest  living  man  in  the  world. 
You  are  attracted  to  him  by  bis  sharp,  squeaky  voice,  and  by 
the  remarks  of  the  eao-er  crowd  gathered  around  him.  At  first 
it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  the  queer  little  thing,  with  a  ridicu- 
lous little  silk  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  is  really  a  man.  He 
tells  you  that  he  weighs  ten  pounds.  Next  to  him  is  the  fattest 
of  all  women.  She  is  advertised  to  weigh  half  a  ton,  and  prob- 
ably  actually  does  weigh  about  eight  hundred  pounds.  She 
looks  very  unhappy.  A  fat  freak  thinks  but  little,  dies  young. 
and  is  worried  in  her  last  moments  by  the  thought  that  her 
coffin  must  be  lowered  out  of  the  window  by  ropes. 


468  HUMAN  CURIOSITIES. 

The  strong  man  who  lifts  tremendous  weights  is  near  the  fat 
woman.  Close  beside  him  is  a  small  band  discoursing  discord- 
ant music,  and  as  the  man  drops  the  weights  on  the  floor  to 
show  by  the  noise  how  heavy  they  are,  four  bass  drums  are 
pounded  simultaneously,  which  makes  the  weights  sound  very 
heavy  indeed. 

The  "  expansionist,"  who  is  able  to  inflate  his  chest  in  a 
wonderful  way,  stands  beside  the  turtle  boy,  who  derives  his 
title  and  his  income  from  the  fact  that  apparently  he  has  no 
legs,  and  that  his  feet  are  attached  directly  to  his  body  and 
present  an  unpleasant  imitation  of  the  flippers  of  a  turtle. 

Other  freaks  are  numerous.  The  Egg  Crank,  who  eats  one 
hundred  and  twenty  eggs ;  the  Dog  Faced  Boy ;  the  Wild  Men 
of  Borneo ;  the  Living  Half  Man,  whose  misfortune  it  was  to 
be  cut  in  two  by  a  buzz-saw  below  the  waist ;  the  Transparent 
Man ;  the  Human  Pin-Cushion,  a  remarkable  young  man  who 
allows  you  to  stick  needles  into  his  breast  and  arms  at  will; 
the  Human  Claw-Hammer,  a  handy  man  around  the  house, 
Avho  drives  tacks  in  the  carpet  with  his  thumb  and  forces  large 
nails  through  three-inch  planks  with  his  hand;  the  Human 
Anvil,  who  allows  a  friend  to  break  large  stones  on  his  chest 
with  a  sledge-hammer,  are  all  here.  Snake-charmers  are 
numerous;  and  leopard  children,  men  who  walk  on  red-hot 
iron,  spotted  boys,  porcupine  men,  two-headed  dogs,  and  other 
wonderful  attractions,  are  often  found  in  these  museums. 

Freaks  are  divided  into  two  classes ;  those  that  are  genuine, 
and  those  that  are  false.  Among  the  real  freaks  may  be  classed 
the  fat  woman,  the  dwarf,  the  Albino,  the  living  skeleton,  the 
spotted  boy,  the  glass  eater,  the  giant,  and  the  legless  wonder. 
Among  the  bogus  freaks  are  the  Circassian  girls,  the  tattooed 
men,  the  sword  swallowers  and  fire  eaters,  the  Fiji  Island  can- 
nibals, the  wild  men  of  Borneo,  and  the  survivors  of  great  ac- 
cidents, like  the  Johnstown  flood,  and  so  forth. 

Sword  swallowers  and  fire  eaters  have  a  comparatively  easy 
trade,  which  plenty  of  men  might  follow.  Tattooed  men  can 
be  produced  as  rapidly  as  they  are  wanted.  One  man  in  the 
tattooing  business  says  that  he  can  produce  several  South  Sea 


FEMALE  BEGGARS   AND   HIM  AX    WRECKS.  4G9 

Islanders  every  week,  and  can  transform  any  girl  into  a  South 
Sea  princess  without  much  trouble  or  pain. 

These  human  curiosities  travel  from  one  museum  to  an- 
other, stopping  one  week  here  and  two  weeks  there,  and  each 
manager  strives  to  secure  for  himself  the  freak  who  stands 
for  the  superlative  in  his  own  particular  realm  of  freakdom. 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  Bowery  that  it  has  its  own  artists 
iu  the  criminal  professions  and  tolerates  no  others.  They  may 
live  on  the  side  streets,  but  they  operate  on  the  great  thorough- 
fa  re.  There  is  a  battalion  of  tramps,  also,  who  never  stray 
outside  this  charmed  circle.  Some  of  them  I  have  known  for 
twenty  years  and  have  watched  them  step  down  lower  and 
lower  until  their  feet  are  close  to  the  threshold  of  the  morgue. 
One,  a  gray-haired  and  bent  mendicant,  tottered  ahead  of  me 
to-night,  little  dreaming  that  I  can  recall  the  day  when  his 
name  was  famous  in  literature.  To  the  world  he  has  been 
dead  these  score  of  years,  and  he  will  be  nothing  more  than  a 
mere  name  and  remembrance  when  his  tired  bones  are  laid  to 
rest  in  the  city's  cemetery  of  the  outcast. 

At  yonder  dark  corner  is  a  female  beggar  of  most  disrepu- 
table appearance,  holding  her  hand  out  dumbly  and  keeping 
her  head  bowed.  When  the  half-paralyzed  wretch  lifted  a  pair 
of  great  black  eyes  and  thanked  me  for  the  silver  dropped  in 
her  palm,  I  recognized  in  this  human  wreck  a  famous  actress 
who  had  once  been  the  star  of  a  spectacular  troupe.  Diamonds 
and  gold  had  been  lavished  upon  her,  but  she  had  spent  with  a 
free  hand,  and  when  sickness  came  and  her  beauty  departed 
her  friends  went  with  it.  For  years  she  depended  upon  the 
stray  bounty  of  her  old  admirers,  and  haunted  their  offices 
until  driven  away  by  the  police  and  at  last  drifted  to  the 
Bowery  to  beg  by  night. 

As  for  the  lager  beer  saloons  their  name  is  legion.  The 
German  is  dearly  fond  of  the  beverage  which  had  its  origin  in 
his  native  land,  and  in  the  evening  he  often  brings  his  whole 
family  to  saloons  dignified  by  the  name  of  "  gardens."  There 
are  two  such  "  gardens  "  that  can  each  accommodate  a  thousand 
or  more  patrons  at  once.     They  are  comparatively  quiet  during 


470  SATURDAY  NIGHT  ON  THE  BOWERY. 

the  day,  but  when  evening  comes  they  fill  with  people,  the 
orchestra  at  one  end  of  the  vast  hall  fills  the  air  with  music, 
and  the  audience  fills  itself  with  beer.  On  every  side  are 
family  groups,  father,  mother,  and  children,  all  merry,  all 
sociable,  all  well-behaved  and  quiet.  The  Germans  are  proud  of 
keeping  up  the  respectability  of  the  place  to  which  they  bring 
their  female  friends  and  relatives. 

Running  into  the  Bowery  from  each  side  are  numerous 
streets  and  alleys.  Many  of  them  are  the  abodes  of  vice  and 
crime,  of  honest  and  dishonest  poverty ;  and  others  contain  the 
homes  of  artisans,  day-laborers,  working  girls  and  women,  who 
make  up  the  throng  that  presses  along  the  sidewalks  in  the 
evening  and  especially  on  the  last  evening  of  the  week. 

On  Saturday  night  the  working-people,  most  of  whom  have 
received  their  wages,  come  out  to  spend  their  hard-earned 
money  in  luxuries  or  necessities.  The  shops  are  open  until 
midnight,  and  some  of  them  later  still,  and  at  every  step  one 
encounters  persistent  and  noisy  peddlers  of  all  sorts.  The 
beer-saloons  and  other  drinking-places  are  brilliantly  lighted, 
and  the  sound  of  jingling  pianos,  the  squeak  of  violins,  or  the 
discordant  notes  of  an  accordeon,  come  from  cellar  dives  and 
low  resorts.  Here  in  low  and  dingy  beer-shops  and  dirtier 
cellars  lurk  some  of  the  worst  specimens  of  our  foreign  popu- 
lation, and  uncanny  forms  of  evil  stop  a  moment  to  stare  at 
you  before  they  suddenly  dive  down  dimly-lighted  stairways 
or  slink  around  the  corners. 

Gamblers,  pickpockets,  and  other  "  crooks  "  abound,  and  are 
ready  to  take  under  their  wing  any  one  who  will  trust  himself 
to  their  care.  The  soap,  hair-oil,  tooth-wash,  or  cutlery  ped- 
dlers occupy  corners  wherever  the  police  will  permit  them  to 
stand,  vociferously  crying  their  wares.  Flaming  torches  light 
up  their  stands  with  a  fitful  glare,  and  reveal  every  line  of  their 
faces  with  the  distinctness  of  a  photograph. 

An  interesting  night-worker  is  the  man  who  delves  in  ash- 
barrels  and  boxes  or  in  dust-heaps  for  whatever  may  be  deemed 
worth  picking  up.  Everything  is  fish  that  comes  to  his  net ; 
cigar-stumps,  empty  bottles,  bones  with  bits  of  meat  clinging 


RAG-PICKERS   OF   BAXTER   STREET. 


471 


to  them,  scraps  of  old  clothing,  —  anything  and  everything  that 
can  possibly  have  the  least  value  is  taken  in.  Along  the  Bow- 
ery can  occasionally  be  seen  a  rag-picker  from   Baxter  Streel 

searching  the  gutters  with  a  lantern  which  he  carries  at  the 
end  of  a  string,  so  that  he  can  hold  it  close  to  the  ground  with- 
out stooping.  This  is  an  idea  borrowed  from  the  chiffonier  of 
Paris,  and  not  at  all  a  bad  one.     Not  a  few  of  the  rag-pickers 

of  New  York  have  gradua- 
ted from  the  gutters  of  the 
French  capital  and  drifted 
thence  across  the  sea. 


EN   A   RAC-I'ICKERS  CELLAR,  BAX 
TEH   BTBEET. 


The  Bowery  has  its  social  divisions  just  as  vre  find  them  in 
the  aristocratic  parts  of  the  city.  There  are  race  and  class  dis- 
tinctions, and  there  is  also  the  distinction  of  color  no  less 
marked  than  anywhere  else  in  the  land.  White  men  have 
their  resorts,  and  so  have  the  colored,  and  each  holds  itself 
aloof  from  the  other. 

Xot  long  ago  there  was  a  curious  resort  on  Baxter  Street, 
not  far  from  the  Bowery,  from  which  thoroughfare  much  of  its 
patronage  was  drawn,  known  among  white  men  as  "The 
Black  and  Tan,"  which  was  not  altogether  a  safe  place  for  a 
well-dressed  man  to  enter  alone,  especially  at  night.     Off  from 


472  "the  black  and  tan." 

the  street  was  a  long  narrow  barroom  with  a  low  ceiling  and 
a  very  showy  bar.  The  liquors  sold  were  of  the  cheapest  qual- 
ity. A  noticeable  feature  of  the  bar  was  a  large  club  within 
easy  reach  of  the  proprietor,  and  there  was  a  club  for  each  of 
his  assistants.  These  clubs  were  of  great  use  in  preserving 
order  among  the  patrons,  who  not  infrequently  fell  into  discord. 

Most  of  the  customers  were  negroes,  but  there  were  Malays, 
Chinese,  Lascars,  and  other  Asiatics  as  well,  and  on  one  even- 
ing not  long  ago  two  American  Indians  were  found  there  im- 
bibing firewater  of  a  dangerous  character.  Here  and  there  was 
a  white  man  who  had  no  prejudice  as  to  color,  and  there  were 
women  of  all  shades  from  ebony  black  to  the  lightest  of  tan 
colors.  Most  of  the  latter  were  flashily  dressed,  but  the  coal- 
black  ones  were  generally  in  plain  attire,  though  there  was 
often  an  abundance  of  cheap  jewelry  which  shone  conspicu- 
ously against  the  dark  skin.  Many  of  these  negresses  had 
their  heads  wrapped  in  bright-colored,  old-fashioned  bandan- 
nas, and  their  accent  revealed  the  fact  that  they  have  drifted 
from  Southern  States  since  "  de  wah." 

At  the  end  of  the  bar  was  a  swinging  door  leading  into  a 
rear  room  from  whence,  during  a  recent  visit,  came  the  hum 
of  voices.  Even  were  there  no  voices  one  might  easily  surmise 
that  the  room  had  many  occupants,  for  at  frequent  intervals 
a  colored  waiter  came  out  with  orders  which  were  quickly  filled 
at  the  bar.  Quietly  following  him  one  found  himself  in  a  room 
which  was  lighted  by  numerous  kerosene  lamps.  It  had  the 
same  low  ceiling,  and  the  walls  were  covered  with  cheap  and 
gaudily  colored  sporting  pictures. 

Around  the  room  were  several  small  tables  at  which  dusky 
negroes  were  deeply  engrossed  in  card  playing.  At  one  side  of 
the  room  was  a  crowd  surrounding  an  old  stout  negro  who  sat 
behind  a  table  which  was  marked  off  into  six  squares  by  means 
of  lines  drawn  with  white  paint.  The  squares  were  numbered 
from  one  to  six,  and  the  game  consisted  in  betting  pennies  or 
nickels  on  the  numbers  and  deciding  the  course  of  fortune  by 
means  of  a  dice-box. 

"  Walk  up,  gents,  'n  try  yer  luck,"  the  stout  darkey  shouted 


A  BAXTER  STREET    DANCE    BALL.  473 

as  the  playing  lagged.     "Here's  yer  chance  to  make  a  fortin; 

walk  roun'  the  room  with  yer  gal  and  play  ebery  time  yer 
come  along.     Peggy3  don't  yer  feller  want  ter  play?" 

The  query  was  addressed  to  an  ebony  maiden  of  thirty  or 

more  summers,  who  had  in  tow  a  Malay  sailor  with  rings  in 
his  ears. 

Peggy  led  him  to  the  table  and  suggested  that  he  play  a 
nickel  "for  luck/'  He  plunged  a  hand  into  a  deep  pocket  and 
produced  a  nickel  which  he  placed  on  the  table.  The  stout 
neffro  rattled  the  box  and  threw  the  contents  on  the  table. 

"  You're  a  winner,  two  for  one,"  he  said  to  the  Malay, 
pushing  back  that  gentleman's  wager  and  two  nickels  with  it. 
Another  rattle  of  the  dice-box  followed,  and  another  invitation 
for  somebody  to  make  his  ''fortin." 

Peggy  nodded  to  one  of  the  waiters,  who  was  at  her  side  in 
an  instant.  She  suggested  "  two  beers,"  and  the  winnings  of 
her  Malay  acquaintance  were  speedily  invested  in  liquor. 

Then  she  proposed  that  they  have  a  dance.  He  assented, 
and  she  led  the  way  to  the  end  of  the  room  and  down  a  nar- 
row stairway  to  another  apartment  which  was  designated  the 
ballroom,  from  whence  came  the  sound  of  cheap  music  and  a 
shuffling  of  feet.  The  music  was  produced  by  a  strong-armed 
negro  energetically  thumping  a  piano  which  was  badly  out  of 
tune,  an  old  gray-haired  colored  man  sawing  the  strings  of  a 
cracked  violin,  a  gay  colored  youth  with  distended  cheeks 
blowing  a  wheezy  flute,  and  another  youth  with  closed  eyes 
and  head  fallen  to  one  side  industriously  picking  a  banjo. 
However,  none  of  the  dancers  were  inclined  to  complain  of  the 
quality  of  the  music,  and  the  players  seem  to  be  entirely  en- 
grossed in  producing  the  greatest  possible  amount  of  noise. 

There  was  not  much  space  for  dancing,  and  the  crowd  was 
dense.  As  they  shuffled  along  the  floor  the  dancers  jostled  each 
other,  but  nobody  objected  and  there  was  a  general  appearance 
of  good  nature.  Xow  and  then  some  dusky  visitor  got  into  a 
quarrel  with  another  and  resorted  to  blows  or  pulled  out  a  razor 
—  the  favorite  weapon  of  colored  citizens  throughout  the  coun- 
try.    Some  of  the  seafaring  men  in  the  ballroom  carried  knives, 


474  OLD-CLO'   DEALERS   AND   THEIR   TRICKS. 

and  when  knives  and  razors  begin  to  flash  in  the  sickly  gas- 
light of  one  of  these  resorts  it  is  time  for  all  hands  to  leave. 

"Whenever  the  orchestra  paused,  the  waiter,  whose  badge 
of  office  was  a  white  apron,  vociferously  shouted, — 

"Come,  gents,  give  yer  orders, — treat  yer  partners  in  dis 
yer  dance, —  keep  yer  jints  well  iled, — take  beer  or  suthin'  an' 
be  quick  about  it." 

The  cool  night  air  was  refreshingly  welcome  as  we  emerged 
from  "The  Black  and  Tan"  and  wended  our  way  to  Chatham 
Street,  long  famous  for  its  old-clo'  shops  and  its  stores  of  cheap 
clothing.  The  shop-keepers  are  mostly  Israelites  ;  but  enter- 
prising Irishmen,  Germans,  and  Americans  have  entered  the 
field,  and  some  of  them  have  made  a  success  that  is  envied  by 
their  Hebrew  neighbors. 

In  former  times  one  ran  considerable  risk  in  getting  inside 
of  one  of  these  establishments.  If  he  refused  to  purchase  he 
was  in  danger  of  being  violently  robbed  ;  if  he  dared  to  make 
complaint  he  had  no  witnesses  to  support  his  statements,  while 
all  the  attaches  of  the  place  swore  to  a  contrary  state  of  affairs. 
But  a  vigorous  police  have  changed  things  for  the  better. 

The  purchaser  of  clothing  on  Chatham  street  is  pretty  cer- 
tain to  be  swindled,  as  the  goods  sold  are  of  the  cheapest  sort, 
badly  made  and  of  wretched  materials.  Clothing  has  been 
bought  there  which  was  pasted  or  glued  (not  sewn)  together ; 
it  answered  fairly  well  if  worn  on  a  dry  day,  but  unfortunate 
was  the  purchaser  who  ventured  out  in  it  in  a  rain  storm. 

The  clothing-dealers  on  Chatham  Street  possess  the  gift  of 
"blarney"  to  a  high  degree.  They  have  been  known  to 
convince  a  customer  that  a  coat  three  or  four  sizes  too  large  for 
him  "  fits  shplendid  "  ;  they  stand  him  before  a  mirror  and  as 
the  customer  observes  the  front  of  the  garment  the  dealer 
gathers  in  a  handful  at  the  back.  When  the  buyer  is  in  a 
position  to  see  the  reflection  of  the  back,  the  crafty  swindler 
performs  the  same  trick  with  the  front  and. adds, 

"  Oh,  mine  frent,  I  vish  you  had  eyes  in  de  pack  of  your 
headt,  shoost  to  see  how  shplendid  dot  gote  fits  betveen  dose 
shoulders." 


a  m  i:.\\  trick.  i;:> 

Sometimes  the  dealer  plays  on  the  cupidity  of  a  customer 
by  putting  a  well-filled  pocket-book  in  the  pocket  of  the  gar- 
ment he  is  trying  to  sell.     While  the  customer  is  trying  on 

a  coat  the  dealer  exclaims, 

u  Dere  vos  a  nice  shentleman,  Mishter  Astorbilt,  he  \ros 
from  Fif  Avenoo, —  maype  you  knowed  him, —  corned  here  last 
veek  nnd  buys  dot  same  gote,  und  dis  morning  he  prings 
him  pack  and  says  de  gote  vos  too  tight  alreatty  arount  de 
arms.  He  dakes  anoder  gote,  not  quite  so  goot  as  dis,  und 
pays  me  ten  tollars  to  boot,  shoost  because  he  vare  dot  gote 
vore  days  und  dot  makes  de  gote  second  hand.  Dot  gote,  mine 
frent,  shoost  fits  you  shplendid.  I  vant  mine  brudder  to  see 
dot  fit.  Yacob  !  vill  you  come  right  avay  here  a  minnit  und 
shoost  see  dot  gote  fit  on  dis  shentleman's  pack.  "Now,  my 
frent,  I  sells  dot  gote  to  you  so  sheap  as  never  vos."  adding  in 
a  whisper,  "  sheaper  dan  to  mine  own  brudder,  but  say  nod- 
dings." 

Meantime  the  customer  feels  through  the  pockets ;  the 
dealer  makes  sure  he  does  so  without  appearing  to  direct 
the  movement  of  his  hand.  The  hand  comes  in  contact  with 
the  plump  pocket-book  which  was  probably  forgotten  by 
"  Mishter  Astorbilt."  If  the  customer  is  honest  he  disappoints 
the  dealer  by  bringing  the  article  to  light,  but  if  he  is  not 
averse  to  a  dishonest  penny  he  buys  the  coat  and  departs  with 
it  as  quickly  as  possible.  Later  on  he  finds  that  lie  has  paid  an 
exorbitant  price  for  a  poor  coat  containing  an  old  pocket-book 
stuffed  with  brown  paper. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

TRAINING-SCHOOLS  OF  CRIME  — DRINK,  THE  ROOT  OF  EVIL 
—  GREAT  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  THE  LIQUOR  TRAFFIC  FOR 
CRIME  — PLAIN  FACTS  AND  STARTLING  STATEMENTS. 

The  Ancestry  of  Crime  — Effects  of  Heredity  —  Intemperance  the  Root 
of  Evil  —  Pest-Holes  of  New  York  —  Conceived  in  Sin  and  Born  in 
Iniquity  —  Where  Criminals  are  Born  and  How  They  are  Bred  —  Parents, 
Children,  and  Geese  Herded  in  a  Filthy  Cellar —Necessity  the  Mother 
of  Crime  —  Driven  to  Stealing  —  The  Petty  Thieving  of  Boys  and  Girls 
—  How  the  Stove  is  Kept  Going  —  Problems  for  Social  Reformers  — 
Dens  of  Thieves  and  Their  Means  of  Escape  —  Gangs  and  Their 
Occupations  —  Pawn-Shops  and  "Fences" — Eight  Thousand  Saloons 
to  Four  Hundred  Churches  —  Liquor-Dealers  as  Criminals  —  A  Detec- 
tive's Experience  on  Mott  Street  —  A  Mother's  Plea  —  A  Cautious 
Countryman  —  An  Unsafe  Place  at  Night  — A  Child's  First  Lessons  in 
Crime  —  Cheap  Lodging-Houses  —  Foul  Beds  and  Noisy  Nights. 

ALTHOUGH  social  scientists  have  for  many  years  been  en- 
deavoring to  find  means  to  prevent  and  punish  violations 
of  law,  there  is  no  special  organization  in  New  York  city  hav- 
ing for  its  object  the  discovery  of  the  most  prolific  sources  or 
causes  of  crime. 

Mr.  William  Delamater,  who,  in  discharge  of  his  official 
duties  in  connection  with  the  Police  Department,  has  had  ex- 
ceptional opportunity  for  the  study  of  crime  and  its  causes, 
and  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  much  information  contained  in 
this  chapter,  says  that  crime  may  be  the  effect  of  numerous 
causes  which  multiply  themselves  indefinitely  as  we  go  backward 
in  our  examination  of  them.  It  has  so  many  phases  and  degrees 
that  a  course  of  reasoning  from  a  general  effect  to  a  special 
cause  would  be  unsatisfactory.  The  commission  of  a  murder, 
for  instance,  may  be  the  natural  sequence  of  a  burglary,  the 
latter  of  a  petty  theft,  which  last  may  come  of  a  desperate 
need  for  the  alleviation  of  hunger  or  the  distress  of  poverty, 

(476) 


WEEDING!    OUT   THE   POOR. 


or  a  desire  to  obtain  the  means  for  gratifying  a  passing  whim  ;  or 
all  may  be  and  often  are  the  results  of  a  single  glass  of  liquor. 

There  is  a  distinct 
tendency  to  the  mass- 
ing together  of  the 
rich  in  their  own  sec- 
tions of  the  city.     It 


is    not    merely 
that    they    find 

each    other's 


society     conge- 


nial,  but  that 
they  conscious- 
ly avoid  and 
weed  out  the 
poor  The    AM0NG  TnE  tenements  en  the  rear  of  mulberry 

i.  , , ,  STREET. 

man  of  wealth 

will  pay  an  exorbitant  price  for  a  lot  which  he  does  not  want. 
merely  to  get  some  wretched  shanties  and  their  occupants  out 
of  his  neighborhood.     The  church,  of  which  it  should  be  the 


478  THE   CRADLE   OF  CRIME. 

glory  that  "  the  poor  have  the  gospel  preached  to  them,"  sells 
its  hallowed  shrine  for  a  warehouse  and  rebuilds  miles  away  as 
soon  as  the  poor  hive  in  any  numbers  around  its  doors.  This 
massing  of  wealth  involves  the  massing  of  poverty.  The  poor 
are  driven  by  inexorable  necessity  into  "  the  poor  quarters  "  of 
the  city,  where  they  pull  each  other  further  down  from  all 
chance  and  hope.  Whoever  follows  a  case  of  distress  to  its 
abiding-place  finds  it  in  part  of  one  room  of  a  tenement-house, 
and  that  one  room  duplicated  in  wretchedness  by  range  after 
range  of  rooms  from  the  oozy  cellar  to  the  leaky  garret,  and 
that  house  duplicated  by  street sful  of  other  houses,  till  benevo- 
lence stands  aghast  at  misery  miles  in  area  and  six  stories  deep. 
Individual  help  seems  like  putting  one  drop  of  oil  upon  a 
stormy  sea.  Fifth  Avenue  and  the  slums  grow  ever  more  hope- 
lessly asunder.  Fifth  Avenue  despises  the  slums,  and  the  slums 
hate  Fifth  Avenue. 

This  massing  of  wealth  and  poverty  tends  to  vice  at  both 
ends  of  the  social  scale,  especially  at  the  lowest.  A  life  with- 
out an  innocent  joy  ;  unt hanked,  unpitied  toil,  merely  for 
the  means  to  toil;  an  atmosphere  foul  with  physical  rot- 
tenness and  fouler  with  the  oaths  and  obscenity  that  are 
poured  out  on  every  breath ;  school  privileges  well  nigh  impos- 
sible for  want  of  decent  food  and  clothing  and  the  hard  neces- 
sity of  child-labor ;  no  chance  ever  to  hear  the  gospel  in  the 
temples  where  the  rich  and  the  poor  do  not  meet  together, 
though  the  Lord  be  maker  of  them  all ;  a  hundred  saloons 
to  one  mission  Sunday-school,  open  twenty-four  hours  a  day 
and  seven  days  in  the  week  to  the  Sunday-school's  one  hour 
and  one  day,  —  is  it  surprising  that  pauperism  and  crime 
live  and  thrive,  and  that  both  soon  become  professional  ? 

That  criminal  tendencies  are  often  transmitted  from  parent 
to  child  is  unquestionably  true.  A  celebrated  student  of  crime 
recently  made  the  interesting  statement  that  the  greatest  male- 
factors inherited  their  criminal  instincts  from  a  long  line  of 
thieves,  robbers,  and  murderers.  In  the  Paris  Gallery  of 
Eogues  are  a  number  of  photographs  of  criminal  celebrities 
whose  ancestors  for  generations  have  been  jail-birds  and  convicts. 


THE   HOME   OF    PAUPERISM    AND    MISERY. 


m 


"But  while  heredity  undoubtedly  contributes  its  quota  to  the 
criminal  class,  we  must  look  further  for  the  chief  causes  that 
swell  its  ranks.  And  first  the  most  prolific  and  fundamental 
source  of  crime  is  intemperance,  for  drink  is  generally  the  foun- 


dation of  pauperism  and  under- 
lies nearly  all  other  sources  of 
crime  of  every  name  and  nature. 
The  worst  cradle  of  crime  in 
New  York  city  is  in  its  tenement-house  district,  a  region 
gi\Ten  over  to  pauperism  and  misery,  the  greater  part  of  which 
was  primarily  induced  by  intemperance.      Here  liquor-saloons, 


480        .  TRAINING  SCHOOLS   OF  CRIME. 

corner  groggeries,  and  bar-rooms  abound  on  every  hand,  ply 
their  infamous  trade  day  and  night,  and  flourish  on  their 
ill-gotten  gains  extracted  from  the  pockets  of  the  poor,  often 
sorely  needed  for  half-starved  women  and  children. 

The  amount  of  vice  and  crime  springing  from  and  fostered 
by  the  promiscuous  herding  together  of  human  beings  in  tene- 
ments has  been  a  fruitful  source  of  trouble  to  the  police.  In  the 
Fourth  and  Sixth  Wards  the  population  is  packed  at  the  rate  of 
2G0,000  individuals  to  the  square  mile,  and  in  the  Fourth  Ward 
alone  at  the  rate  of  nearly  300,000  inhabitants  to  the  square 
mile.  The  most  densely  populated  districts  of  London  do  not 
approach  anywhere  near  these  figures.  Nearly  500,000  persons 
live  in  tenement-houses  in  New  York,  and  there  is  one  house 
that  shelters  1,500  tenants.  A  recent  systematic  inspection  of 
all  tenement-houses,  during  which  a  census  was  taken,  shows 
tliat  there  are  32,390  tenements  occupied  by  237,972  families, 
which  are  comprised  of  937,209  persons  over  five  years  of  age, 
and  142,519  under  that  age.  Drunkenness  is  prevalent.  Squalid 
misery  abounds  on  every  hand.  In  some  of  these  wretched  lo- 
calities no  education  but  that  of  crime  obtains.  Ignorant, 
weary,  and  complaining  wives,  cross  and  hungry  husbands,  wild 
and  ungoverned  children,  are  continually  at  war  with  each 
other.  The  young  criminal  is  the  product  almost  exclusively 
of  these  training-schools  of  vice  and  crime  in  the  worst 
tenement-house  districts.  Eighty  per  cent,  of  the  crimes  com- 
mitted in  New  York  city  against  property  and  against  the  per- 
son are  perpetrated  by  individuals  who  never  had  any  home 
life,  or  whose  homes  had  ceased  to  be  decent  and  desirable. 

Ignorant  and  poor,  filthy  and  degraded,  the  low  tenement 
victim  drags  out  an  existence  which  is  as  logical  as  it  is  miser- 
able. Born  in  poverty  and  rags,  nursed  in  filth  and  darkness, 
reared  in  ignorance  and  vice,  matured  in  sin  and  crime,  is 
the  life  history  of  the  great  majority  of  tenement-house 
creatures,  and  the  end  must  be  either  the  almshouse  or  the 
prison,  or  possibly  the  felon's  death. 

It  is  estimated  that  the  Eleventh  Precinct  of  New  York 
city,  which  is  a  tenement-house  district,  contains  six  per  cent. 


POVERTY,    RAo'S,    FILTH,    AND    DARKNESS. 


1M 


of  the  city's  population,  and  the  fact  that  the  proportion  of 
arrests  in  this  precinct  is  nearly  double  that  of  any  other  pre- 
cinct, is  a  striking  commentary  upon  the  evils  resultant  upon 
tenement-house  life  and  its  tendency  to  crime.  This  precinct 
contains  a  dense  cosmopolitan  population.  It  abounds  with 
tenement-houses,  good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  —  mostly  bad.  No 
district  of  equal  population  in  the  city  better  illustrates  the 


A   GROUP   AS   FOUND   UN*   A   TENEMENT-HOUSE    CELLAR    LN    TILE    REAR    OF   MUL- 
BERRY   STREET. 


extreme  destitution  and  misery  of  vast  numbers  of  human 
beings  huddled  indiscriminately  together  like  a  mass  of  gar- 
bage, to  ferment  and  decompose  into  off ensiveness ;  and  cer- 
tainly no  district  in  which  intemperance,  pauperism,  and  crime 

prevail  to  so  large  an  extent  as  in  this.  In  it  are  born  and  bred 
a  class  of  beings  whose  immediate  ancestors  were  drunken,  pov- 
erty-stricken, and  vile,  and  whose  progeny  must  be  paupers 


482 


HOW   CRIMINALS  ARE  MADE. 


and  criminals  —  pitiable  as  well  as  lawless.  That  intemperance 
is  often  the  cause,  and  pauperism  and  crime  the  outcome,  of 
such  conditions,  must  be  admitted ;  and  that  abject  want,  no 
matter  what  its  cause,  is  among  the  foremost  of  all  crime 

causes,  as  it  assuredly  is  the 
most  deplorable  of  all  human 
conditions,  must  be  accepted  as 
true. 

Pauperism,  induced  by  in- 
temperance, improvidence,  and 
other  causes,  but  most  often  by 
drink,  results  necessarily  from 
and  in  the  herding  of  large 
numbers  of  hu- 
man beings  in 
tenement  dis- 
tricts where 
apartments 
are  small  and 
rents  corres- 
pondingly low. 
The  ignorant 
and  vicious  be- 
come speedily 
intermingled 
with  the  pov- 
erty -  stricken, 
and  the  whole  body  rapidly  assumes  the  characteristics  of  the 
vicious,  who  are  naturally  the  strongest.  The  following  report 
of  an  inspection  made  by  an  agent  of  the  Sanitary  Aid  Society 
in  the  Eleventh  Precinct  is  suggestive :  — 

"  The  investigations  reveal  a  state  of  affairs  than  which 
nothing  more  horrible  can  be  imagined,  and  which,  although 
perhaps  equaled,  cannot  be  surpassed  in  any  European  city. 
To  get  into  these  pestilential  human  rookeries  you  have  to 
penetrate  courts  and  alleys  reeking  with  poisonous  and  malodor- 
ous gases  arising  from  accumulations  of   sewage  and  refuse 


A  RAG-PICKER  S   ROOM   IN   A   TENEMENT-HOUSE. 


PESTIFEROUS   HOLES.  483 

scattered  in  all  directions  and  often  flowing  beneath  your  feet. 
You  have  to  ascend  rotten  staircases  which  tin-eaten  to  give  way 
beneath  every  step,  and  which  in  some  cases  have  already 
broken  down.  Leaving  gaps  that  imperil  the  limbs  and  lives  of 
the  unwary.  Walls  and  ceilings  are  black  with  the  accretions 
of  filth  which  have  gathered  upon  them  through  long  years  of 
neglect.  It  exudes  through  cracks  in  the  boards  overhead  and 
runs  down  the  walls ;  it  is  everywhere. 

uThe  rooms  are  crowded  with  sick  and  dirty  children. 
Often  several  families  occupy  the  same  apartment.  One  of  the 
inspectors  reports  twenty-five  persons  in  three  so-called  rooms, 
but  of  which  twTo  are  mere  closets  without  windows  or  open- 
ings to  the  hall.  Here  is  a  family  of  father,  mother,  and  four 
children,  taking  in  fourteen  boarders  and  living  in  three  rooms. 
There  are  fifteen  people  of  all  sexes  and  ages  in  two  little 
rooms,  a  great  portion  of  which  is  in  addition  taken  up  with 
old  rags  and  refuse.  One  of  the  directors  discovered  parents, 
three  children,  and  fifteen  geese  living  in  a  filthy  cellar.  An- 
other visited  a  room  which  had  actually  not  been  cleaned 
or  whitewashed  for  five  years,  and  where  the  ceiling  Avas 
tumbling  down  in  pieces,  one  of  the  children  being  in  bed 
from  severe  wounds  on  the  face  and  shoulder  inflicted  by  the 
falling  piaster.  Here  were  found  a  woman  and  five  small 
children  who  were  actually  starving,  having  eaten  nothing  for 
two  days;  there  a  woman  but  two  days  after  confinement 
being  ejected  by  an  inhuman  landlord." 

This  is  no  fancy  picture  of  a  pest-hole  in  the  great  city  of 
New  York,  for  indisputable  evidence  of  its  truth  is  readily  at- 
tainable. If  this  be  the  physical  condition  of  about  sixty  thou- 
sand of  our  fellow-creatures  in  one  ward,  their  moral  condition 
makes  us  shudder  to  contemplate.  Can  any  thinking  man  haz- 
ard the  assertion  that  criminals  are  not  born  and  reared  in 
such  a  region  of  fifth  and  degradation?  Assume  that  poverty 
compels  human  beings  to  mass  themselves,  it  does  not  follow, 
as  is  generally  supposed,  that  the  actual  necessities  of  living 
are  lessened  in  any  way.  The  reverse  is  the  fact,  for  with 
crowding  comes  indulgence  in  vicious  habits  and  practices,  (lis- 


484 


FIRST   LESSONS  IN  THIEVING. 


ease  and  death,  with  all  the  evils  that  attend  them  among  the 
poor.  Necessity, —  the  inevitable  sequence  of  intemperance, — 
more  than  all  other  causes  combined,  drives  people  to  the  com- 
mission of  crime.  If  one  suffers  from  cold  and  hunger,  and 
can  neither  buy  nor  beg  food,  fuel,  and  clothing,  he  must  per- 
force steal  it,  for  necessity  is  a  master  over  human  action. 
And  when  we  add  to  this  the  inclination  to  inebriety,  idleness, 
and  vice  engendered  by  the  surroundings  of  their  lives,  we  can- 
not wonder 
that  from 
such  a  class 
and  under 
such  circum- 
stances crim- 
i n al s  are 
born. 

Petty  thiev- 
ing by  boys 
and  girls 
who  are  not 
taught  to  dis- 
criminate be- 

A  TRAINING-SCHOOL    OF    CRIME.      BOYS    PLAYING    PICKPOCKET 

LN   AN   ALLEY.  tW^       right 

and  wrong, 
who  are,  in  fact,  led  to  believe  it  a  virtue  to  steal  in  order  to 
provide  themselves  and  parents  with  comforts  impossible  to 
obtain  otherwise,  is  a  matter  of  course  among  the  poorest 
classes.  Getting  up  behind  a  coal-cart  and  purloining  a  few 
pieces  of  coal  is  a  common  sight  in  the  tenement  regions,  and 
the  boy  who  gets  the  greatest  quantity  without  discovery  is 
not  only  regarded  by  his  companions  with  envy,  but  his  pov- 
erty-stricken mother  awards  him  the  highest  praise.  Thus 
recruits  are  daily  added  to  the  great  army  of  criminals.  The 
boy  who  steals  coal  to  provide  his  mother  with  a  fire,  or  a 
shawl  to  cover  her  thread-bare  dress,  becomes  a  hero,  in  his 
own  estimation  at  least,  and  perseveres  in  the  same  direction 
toward  a  felon's  cell. 


CANDIDATES  FOR   CRIME. 


485 


Persons  arrested    for  intoxication  and  disorderly  conduct 
arising  therefrom,  in  a  Large  percentage  of  instances,  arc  fined 

only   small   sums  by  the  police   magistrates,  or  sent  to   the 
city  prisons  in  default  of  payment.     What  is  the  effect  \    The 


A  TENEMENT-HOUSE   ALLEY   GANG.      CANDIDATES   EOK    CRIME. 

family  of  the  offender  are  often  deprived  of  the  necessities 
of  life  by  the  enforcement  of  a  line,  or  are  left  wholly  without 
means  by  the  husband's  or  father's  incarceration.  Necessity 
compels  a  resort  to  crime  that  the  family  may  not  starve. 
Wages  of  tenement-holders  are  at  all  times  small  and  scarcely 
adequate  to  the  maintenance  of  their  families;  and  when  from 
the  small  wage  is  taken  a  line,  or  the  wage-winner  is  prevented 


486  TENEMENT-HOUSE 

from  earning  his  scanty  pay,  the  family  dependent  npon 
him  must  suffer.  The  inevitable  result  is  almstaking  or  crime. 
How  this  may  be  remedied  is  one  of  the  most  important 
questions  to  be  considered  by  the  social  reformer. 

Tenement-houses  are  admirable  places  for  the  concealment 
of  criminals  as  well  as  the  proceeds  of  crime.  The  intricacy  of 
interminable  and  dark  passages,  the  numberless  halls  and  small 
rooms,  the  disposition  to  defend  and  screen  each  other,  so 
as  to  prevent  apprehension  and  consequent  punishment,  make 
the  tenements  dens  of  thieves.  The  various  "gangs"  that  have 
infested  the  city  and  given  the  police  force  no  end  of  trouble 
for  many  years  are  found  in  the  densely  populated  districts. 
The  tenement-houses  afford  them  excellent  hiding-places,  and 
from  them  the  gangs  are  recruited  when  a  police  raid  has  tem- 
porarily decreased  their  ranks  and  sent  many  of  them  to  penal 
institutions.  It  is  deemed  commendable  by  these  gangs  to  as- 
sault the  police,  to  molest  and  rob  citizens,  to  fight,  steal, 
and  murder.  Here  again  the  collection  of  poor,  ignorant,  and 
vicious  people  into  common  homes  engenders  lawless  habits  and 
practices. 

The  fact  that  the  majority  of  the  pawn-shops  in  the  city  are 
located  in  tenement-house  districts  is  worthy  of  notice.  It  is 
well  known  that  these  institutions  do  not  thrive  upon  the  worn- 
out  garments  of  the  poor,  and  that  the  worthy  poor  have  little 
else  to  dispose  of  in  emergencies.  These  pawn-shops  located  in 
the  midst  of  a  pauperized  community  are  used  more  often 
by  the  criminal  than  by  the  temporarily  distressed,  and  prove 
excellent  storehouses  for  the  spoil  of  the  burglar  and  sneak. 

The  door  of  the  almshouse  —  that  last  resort  of  the  con- 
scienceless and  most  degraded  —  is  the  alternative  to  the  com- 
mission of  crime  by  the  very  poor.  Vagrancy,  and  a  commit- 
tal to  the  almshouse  therefor,  is  regarded  by  certain  classes  as 
far  more  despicable  than  to  be  actually  criminal.  A  thief  is 
looked  upon  by  his  friends  as  a  gentleman  as  compared  to  a 
tramp,  or  one  who  begs  from  door  to  door  ;  for  he  has  money 
and  dresses  well.  Even  those  who  constitute  what  is  called 
the  best  society  regard  a  thief  more  leniently  than  they  do  a 


COMMON  ORIGIN  OF  THE  TRAMP  AND  THE  THIEF.        487 

beggar,  reasoning  that  a  tramp  is  by  choice  or  Inclination  a  de- 
graded and  lawless  wretch  undeserving  of  sympathy  or  assist- 
ance, while  a  thief  is  a  criminal  because  of  his  education  or  his 


AN   ALLEY   TRIO.      AS   FOUND   IN   A   MULBERRY   STREET   ALLEY. 

necessity.  The  fact  is,  both  the  tramp  and  thief  have  a  com- 
mon origin,  their  parent  being  necessity  superinduced  by  drink 
and  evil  companions. 

The  poor  are,  by  reason  of  their  poverty,  socially  ostra- 
cised, and  can  sink  no  lower  by  a  debased  intercourse.  In  the 
tenements  the  young  of  both  sexes  are  constantly  thrown  to- 


488  GIN  MILLS  WHERE  VOTERS  ARE  MADE. 

gether  in  large  numbers  in  small  apartments,  continually  hear 
the  coarsest  and  most  indecent  language,  and  are  led  gradually 
into  immorality.  It  is  believed  that  eighty  per  cent,  of  the 
lowest  class  of  female  offenders  were  reared  in  tenement- 
houses.  Necessity  —  too  often  the  legacy  of  a  drunken  hus- 
band or  father  —  is  the  great  primary  force  driving  girls  and 
women  first  to  the  door  of  starvation,  then  to  comparative  ease, 
afterward  to  indecency  and  crime. 

How  pauperism  can  be  abated  or  removed,  as  one  of  the 
causes  of  crime,  is  one  of  the  intricate  social  problems  that  re- 
formers have  to  solve.  No  human  law  ever  framed  has  had 
sufficient  wisdom  to  suppress  or  prevent  it.  That  it  is  too 
often  induced  by  drunkenness,  and  that  it  always  thrives  on 
the  liquor  traffic,  must  be  apparent  to  any  intelligent  person. 

In  some  parts  of  the  city  may  be  found  a  dozen  or  more 
saloons  in  a  single  block.  In  many  places  where  streets  inter- 
sect at  right  angles  one  can  see  criminal  schools  in  full  opera- 
tion on  each  of  the  four  corners.  Some  of  them  pretend  to 
do  a  legitimate  business,  but  many  of  them  are  the  resorts  of 
well-known  "crooks"  and  desperate  characters  of  all  classes. 

There  are  more  than  eight  thousand  saloons  and  barrooms 
in  New  York,  which  can  boast  at  the  same  time  of  only  about 
four  hundred  churches.  Saloons  are  open  at  nearly  all  hours 
of  the  day  and  night,  and  their  business  is  carried  on  the 
greater  part  of  every  twenty-four  hours,  not  excepting  Sun- 
days. 

The  barrooms  in  the  principal  hotels  and  restaurants  are 
"  respectable  "  enough,  so  far  as  any  barroom  can  be  respect- 
able, but  with  the  great  majority  of  the  establishments  for 
drinking  purposes  the  case  is  far  different.  Nine  barrooms  in 
ten,  and  we  might  fairly  say  nineteen  out  of  twenty,  are  the 
property  of  local  politicians  or  are  managed  in  their  interest. 
Usually  the  liquor-dealers  are  in  a  majority  on  the  Board  of 
Aldermen  by  actual  count,  or  if  they  appear  to  be  in  a  minority 
it  is  in  appearance  only,  as  they  are  sure  to  be  represented  by 
men  whom  they  have  elected  from  other  occupations.  In  all 
the  departments  of  the  service  of  the  city  the  liquor  interest 


AGENTS   OF  THE   DEVIL. 


has  an  important  place.  One  who  has  studied  the  state  of 
affairs  in  the  metropolis  argues  as  follows  to  prove  that  the 
saloons  and  barrooms  have  the  control  of  the  local  govern- 
ment :  — 

"Eight  thousand  barrooms  mean  eight  thousand  proprie- 
tors, eight  thousand  to  twelve  thousand  assistants  (we  will  take 
the  lowest  figures),  which  together  make  sixteen  thousand  votes 
directly  in  the  interest  of  rum.     Every  barroom  can  be  esti- 


INTERIOR   OF   A   LOW   GROGGERY   ON    CHERRY    STREET. 

mated  good  for  at  least  five  voters  among  its  regular  patrons, 
or  forty  thousand  in  all.  Add  live  thousand  votes  for  the 
wholesale  dealers  and  their  employes,  whose  business  depends 
wholly  on  the  retail  establishments,  and  this  will  give  a  total 
of  sixty-one  thousand  votes  from  the  liquor  interest. 

"The  beer-saloon  is  .first  cousin  to  the  barroom,  if  not  its 
twin  brother.  The  owners,  managers,  and  employes  of  the 
breweries,  and  the  owners,  managers,  and  employes  of  the 
hundreds  of  saloons  and  beer-gardens  throughout  the  city,  com- 


490  BARROOMS  THE  CRIMINALS'  PARADISE. 

prise  not  fewer  than  thirty  thousand  voters,  which  number 
added  to  the  foregoing  brings  us  to  ninety-one  thousand  in  all. 

"  The  owners  of  the  buildings  that  are  leased  for  drinking 
places  added  to  those  who  profit  more  or  less  indirectly  by  the 
liquor  traffic,  though  not  nominally  engaged  in  it,  will  swell 
the  total  to  more  than  one  hundred  thousand.  The  total  vote 
of  the  city  for  mayor  at  the  election  of  1889  was  197,789. 
Further  comment  is  unnecessary." 

In  its  political  aspect  the  barroom  is  bad  enough,  but  it  is 
infinitely  worse  in  its  criminal  aspect.  Many  of  the  owners 
and  more  of  the  assistants  in  barrooms  are  closely  connected 
with  violations  of  the  laws  against  felony.  If  justice  were 
done  to  liquor-dealers,  many  of  the  places  of  bar-owner  or  bar- 
tender would  to-day  be  vacant  in  consequence  of  the  involun- 
tary absence  of  their  present  occupants  to  "  do  the  State  some 
service"  at  Sing  Sing  or  other  prisons.  Numerous  barrooms 
throughout  the  city  are  well  known  to  the  police  as  haunts  of 
thieves,  and  training-schools  where  young  candidates  receive 
their  initiation  into  crime. 

The  "green-goods"  men  who  send  circulars  to  people  in 
the  country  inviting  them  to  buy  counterfeit  money'  almost 
always  have  their  letters  addressed  to  barrooms.  When  fol- 
lowed up  by  the  police,  the  barkeeper  says  a  man  whom  he 
"  doesn't  know  "  asked  permission  to  have  his  letters  sent  there ; 
he  calls  every  day  or  two  to  ask  for  them,  but  the  barkeeper 
hasn't  seen  him  for  a  week  and  hasn't  the  slightest  idea  where 
he  lives. 

It  is  difficult  to  prove  that  the  swindler  and  barkeeper  are 
leagued  together,  but  it  is  pretty  certain  that  the  barkeeper 
knows  a  great  deal  more  than  he  will  tell.  He  is  probably  a 
sharer  in  the  business,  or  is  paid  a  certain  commission  "  not  to 
know  anything." 

Not  long  since  a  friend  of  mine  who  had  for  years  been  on 
the  detective  force  in  another  large  city  had  occasion  to  visit  a 
New  York  barroom  notorious  as  the  loafing-place  for  a  gang 
of  thieves.  It  was  about  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  he 
found  himself  in  one  of  the  worst  localities  in  the  city.     There 


A  MOTHER'S   SAD  STORY.  401 

were  barrooms  all  about,  and  nearly  every  one  was  a  den  of 
thieves.  They  were  frequented  by  young  fellows,  many  not 
out  of  their  teens,  and  of  the  class  described  as  "toughs." 

A  young  fellow  was  just  coming  out  of  the  door  of  a  saloon 
on  the  corner,  who  was  in  the  Tombs  police  court  that  very 
morning.  His  mother  was  the  complainant  against  him.  She 
said  he  was  once  a  good  boy,  but  for  the  last  few  months  he 
had  been  idle.  He  spent  much  of  his  time  at  the  saloon  asso- 
ciating with  bad  boys,  and  very  frequently  came  home  under 
the  influence  of  liquor,  or  more  often  did  not  come  at  all. 
"Last  night,"  said  his  mother  in  court,  "he  threatened  to 
throw  all  the  furniture  out  of  the  window,  and  said  he'd  give 
me  and  his  sister  a  good  beating  just  to  make  us  know  what  he 
could  do." 

The  judge  turned  angrily  toward  the  young  tough  and 
asked  what  he  had  to  say  for  himself. 

"  I  wasn't  doiir  nothin',"  he  answered  with  sullen  look  and 
downcast  eyes;  ''I  didn't  throw  nodim1  outen  the  winders,  and 
I  didn't  hit  none  of  'em  at  all.  I  was  jest  in  fun.  jedge,  and 
won't  do  so  no  more." 

"  Will  you  go  to  work  and  keep  out  of  the  barrooms  and 
lodging-houses  if  I  let  you  off  this  time  \  " 

"  Yes,  jedge,  I  will,  and  I  won't  run  no  more  wid  de  gang 
o*  fellers  I've  been  a  runnin'  wid." 

Then  the  mother  pleaded  for  his  release,  and  said  she  was 
sure  he  would  be  a  good  boy  now.  He  was  let  off  with  a 
warning  that  he  would  get  thirty  days  on  the  Island  the  next 
time  he  appeared  in  court. 

He  kept  his  promise  as  most  of  these  young  students  in 
crime  keep  their  promises  to  the  police  judges  or  anybody  e 
He  was  with  the  "  gang  "  at  the  barroom  within  an  hour  after 
being  let  out  of  the  police  court,  and  told  with  great  glee 
and  to  the  amusement  of  his  comrades  how  he  "fooled  der 
jedge  and  hauled  der  wool  over  his  eyes  beautiful."  The  bar- 
tender and  also  the  proprietor  enjoyed  the  joke  hugely,  and  the 
young  scoundrel's  heart  swelled  with  pride  as  he  realized  that 
he  had  become  a  hero. 


492 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  A  FELON  S  CELL. 


These  fellows  do  not  look  upon  arrest  and  imprisonment  as 
a  degradation,  but  exactly  the  reverse.  True,  they  don't  like 
the  inconvenience  of  imprisonment  and  the  enforced  absence 
from  their  favorite  haunts,  nor  is  the  food  and  discipline  of 

Blackwell's  Island  at  all  to  their 
But  when  their  terms 


AN  OLD   CORNER   GROGGERY  NEAR  A   TENEMENT-HOUSE   DISTRICT. 

have  expired  and  they  return  to  the  places  that  knew  them  of 
yore  they  are  received  with  applause  and  honor.  There  is  a  jol- 
lification in  the  barroom  that  forms  the  headquarters  of  the 
gang,  and  not  infrequently  the  proprietor  makes  the  event 
a  special  occasion  by  furnishing  free  drinks  to  all  hands.  lie  is 
sincere  in  his  welcome  of  the  returning  hero,  as  he  expects 
to  make  a  liberal  percentage  out  of  the  next  robbery  perpe- 


PLANNING   A    "JOB."  493 

trated  by  the  gang,  every  member  of  which  will  be  a  good  cus- 
tomer for  weeks,  or  possibly  months,  while  maturing  plans 
for  fresh  deeds  of  lawlessness. 

Upon  entering  the  saloon  my  friend  saw  half-a-dozen  idle 
fellows  lounging  about,  not  one  of  them  apparently  over 
twenty -two  years  of  age,  together  with  a  barkeeper  and  a  little 
ragged  boy  who  had  to  stand  on  tiptoe  to  reach  the  top  of  the 
counter.  The  boy  had  just  come  in  with  a  dirty  broken-nosed 
pitcher  to  be  filled  with  beer,  and  the  barkeeper  and  the  loafers 
who  constituted  the  gang  were  "  having  some  fun  with  him." 
A  cent  was  dropped  on  the  floor,  and  the  urchin  was  told 
he  could  have  it  if  he  would  pick  it  up. 

As  he  stooped  to  take  it  the  barkeeper  slipped  a  long  piece 
of  ice  down  the  little  fellow's  back  next  to  his  skin.  The  idlers 
laughed  at  his  squirming  antics  and  so  did  the  boy ;  not  because 
he  enjoyed  the  joke,  but  he  was  rather  proud  of  the  fact  that 
the  barkeeper,  who  had  served  his  term  on  the  Island  and 
at  Sing  Sing  and  was  noted  for  his  pugilism,  was  willing* to 
take  any  notice  of  a  boy  not  old  enough  to  rank  as  a  "  tough," 
but  entertaining  hopes  that  he  would  be  one  in  course  of  time. 

A  red-faced  tough  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  others.  He 
was  one  of  the  oldest  in  appearance  among  those  in  the  room. 
In  a  low  and  confidential  voice  my  friend  asked, 

"  Is  Boston  Jack  about  ?  " 

"  Naw,"  was  the  reply  with  a  suspicious  look,  "  he's  a  doin' 
his  t'ree  mont's  on  der  Island." 

"  Sorry  I  can't  find  him,"  said  my  friend  with  a  half  sigh 
"We  used  to  work  as  pals  in  Boston  before  he  came  to  New 
York,  and  I  wanted  to  see  him  for  a  little  job." 

The  red-faced  man  looked  up  at  the  suggestion  of  a  "  job," 
and  his  interest  was  sufficiently  roused  to  ask  what  was  up. 

Seated  in  a  retired  corner  of  the  room  my  friend  hinted 
that  if  a  trusty  pal  could  be  found  to  take  a  hand  there  was 
something  to  be  made  and  no  tales  told. 

"Ef  it's  a  job  fer  de  stuff,  I'm  wid  yer,"  was  his  listeners 
low  response  to  the  non-committal  inquiry.  "I've  bin  in  lots 
o'  lays  wid  Jack,  and  him  an'  me's  der  best  o'  friends." 

30 


494 


PORGIE   BILKS   PLOT. 


At  last  he  introduced  himself  as  Bill  Carver,  though  he 
added  that  the  boys  called  him  Porgie  Bill  sometimes,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  having  eaten  seven  porgies  at  a  single  sitting. 

My  friend  grew  confidential  and  intimated  that  he  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  man  who  had  recently  arrived  in 


OLD  AND  YOUNG  TOUGHS  PLAYING  CARDS  ON  THE  DOCKS. 

the  city  from  the  country,  who  had  a  large  amount  of  money 
with  him  which  could  be  divided  between  anybody  Avho 
assisted  in  getting  it  away  from  him. 

"  Can't  yer  fetch  him  inter  der  back  room,"  said  Porgie 
Bill  softly,  as  he  made  a  move  towards  the  door  of  the  snug- 
gery at  the  end  of  the  bar. 

"  But  he  hasn't  got  the  money  with  him.  He's  locked  it 
up  in  the  safe  of  the  hotel  and  won't  take  it  round  in  his 
pockets." 

"Why  can't  yer  get  him  to  bring  der  stuff  down  here  some- 
how ?    Tell  him  der  hotel's  a  dangerous  place  fer  his  cash ;  for 


UNSAFE   PLACES    AT    NIGHT.  495 

hotel  clerks  every  little  while  runs  away  wid  money  dat's  in 
der  safe.    Sec  I" 

Then  the  following  plot  was  hatched  between  them: 

My  friend  was  to  persuade  his  new-found  acquaintance 
from  the  country  that  the  hotel  safe  was  not  regarded  as  per- 
fectly secure,  on  account  of  the  uncertain  honesty  of  the  clerks. 
He  was  to  advise  him  to  put  the  money  in  the  bank  and  offer 
to  accompany  him  there.  He  must  manage  to  detain  him  so 
that  by  the  time  the  bank  was  reached  its  doors  would  be 
closed  for  the  day.  He  was  to  recommend  the  Citizens'  Sav- 
ings or  the  Bowery  Bank  as  the  safest  in  the  city,  both  of 
which  were  convenient  to  the  haunt  of  the  gang.  Upon  arriv- 
ing at  the  bank  and  finding  it  closed  thev  were  to  saunter 
leisurely  down  the  street,  and  when  opposite  to  this  saloon  he 
was  to  invite  his  friend  to  take  a  drink  of  ice  water  or  some- 
thing stronger.  If  he  called  for  liquor  it  would  be  drugged ; 
or  if  he  declined  to  drink  at  all  Porgie  Bill  and  two  of  his 
cronies  were  to  resort  to  the  desperate  chance  of  quickly 
pounding  the  countryman  into  insensibility.  At  the  same  time 
they  were  to  go  through  the  pretence  of  pounding  his  com- 
panion, so  that  if  any  fuss  was  made  about  the  affair  he  would 
seem  no  less  a  victim  than  his  friend. 

All  being  settled,  the  friends  separated,  and  for  all  I  know 
they  may  be  still  waiting  for  their  proposed  victim. 

It  is  not  unsafe  on  the  street  in  this  part  of  the  city  in  the 
daytime,  but  at  night  one  will  do  well  to  look  out  for  himself. 
Most  of  the  gangs  work  in  the  night ;  they  follow  strangers, 
especially  drunken  ones,  keeping  an  eye  all  the  while  upon  the 
policeman  making  his  round.  Two,  three,  or  four  of  these  fel- 
lows work  together,  and  when  a  good  opportunity  presents 
itself  they  fall  upon  a  victim,  and  while  one  holds  and  a 
second  chokes  him,  a  third  rifles  his  pockets.  It  is  all  over  in 
a  few  seconds,  and  the  man  is  dropped  insensible  on  the  side- 
walk, while  the  thieves  scatter  in  various  directions,  to  meet 
later  at  their  headquarters,  where  the  spoil  is  divided  and 
freely  spent  in  saloons  while  concocting  new  crimes. 

Most  of  the  robberies,  great  and  small,  committed  in  Xew 


496  '  THE   CURSE  OF  RUM. 

York  are  planned  in  the  back  rooms  of  low  drinking-places  or 
executed  by  gangs  using  the  barrooms  as  their  headquarters. 
Break  up  these  places,  and  a  long  step  will  be  taken  towards 
the  prevention  of  crime. 

The  very  lowest  class  of  drinking-places  are  cellar  grogger- 
ies  called  "  bucket-shops " ;  beer  and  spirits  are  sold  in  jugs, 
buckets,  and  bottles  as  well  as  over  the  bar,  and  in  many  of 
the  shops  the  remains  of  drinks,  together  with  the  washings  of 
the  bar  and  the  rinsings  of  the  cloths  with  which  it  is  wiped, 
are  thrown  into  a  tub  and  sold  for  two  and  three  cents  a  quart. 
This  liquid  is  known  by  fancy  names,  such  as  "dogVnose," 
"  all-sorts,"  "swipes,"  and  other  terms. 

Drunkenness  in  its  worst  and  most  degraded  forms  is  to  be 
seen  around  these  bucket-shops,  especially  at  night.  Men  and 
women  in  rags  are  to  be  seen  there  spending  what  they  have 
earned,  begged,  or  stolen,  for  the  vilest  drinks,  and  when  un- 
able to  pay  for  what  they  want  they  watch  their  opportunity 
to  secure  "  a  treat."  Children  of  both  sexes  swarm  and  per- 
force listen  to  blasphemy  and  tales  of  criminal  exploits,  and  it 
is  often  here  that  they  receive  their  first  lessons  in  crime,  draw- 
ing it  in,  as  it  were,  with  their  first  breath. 

The  child  thus  familiarized  with  evil  becomes  a  "  tough," 
and  the  " tough"  at  a  later  period  of  life  is  the  burglar  or 
worse,  whose  existence  alternates  between  the  dark  deeds  of 
his  profession  and  the  walls  of  the  penitentiary  where  he 
"  does  time  "  in  punishment  for  his  evil  acts. 

An  important  adjunct  of  the  barroom  as  a  training-school 
for  crime  is  the  cheap  lodging-house.  Lodgings  at  five,  ten, 
fifteen,  and  twenty  cents  a  night  are  to  be  found  all  through 
this  locality.  No  questions  are  asked  as  to  the  name  or  charac- 
ter or  anything  else  concerning  a  lodger  ;  he  pays  his  fee,  and 
that  is  all  that  is  required.  The  cheap  lodging-houses  are 
excellent  retreats  for  them  after  committing  a  robbery,  and 
not  a  few  of  the  keepers  are  in  league  with  these  criminals. 

Kegarded  as  places  for  sleeping,  by  an  honest  man,  these 
houses  are  not  attractive.  Crowded  closely  together,  often  in 
damp  cellars,  in  beds  reeking  with  filth  and  alive  with  vermin, 


DANGEROUS  AND  NOISY   PLACES.  497 

the  patrons — many  of  whom  are  more  or  less  undo'  the  in- 
fluence of  liquor  —  are  dangerous  and  noisy,  and  on  frequenl 

occasions  the  slumbers  of  all  are  disturbed  by  a  row  that  may 
end  in  murder.  The  proprietor  is  indifferent  to  such  possibili- 
ties, and  if  a  lodger  objects  on  the  ground  that  he  wants  to 
sleep  he  will  quite  likely  be  met  with  the  argument  on  the 
part  of  the  owner  : 

"I  sells  you  the  place  fer  sleepin',  but  I  don't  sell  the  sleep 
with  it." 

How  true  is  that  striking  passage  from  the  twenty-third 
chapter  of  Proverbs  in  which  the  baneful  effects  of  intemper- 
ance are  vividly  described:  "Who  hath  woe?  who  hath  sor- 
row? who  hath  contentions?  who  hath  babbling?  who  hath 
wounds  without  cause?  who  hath  redness  of  eyes?  They  that 
tarry  long  at  the  wine.  At  the  last  it  biteth  like  a  serpent, 
and  stingeth  like  an  adder." 

Shakespeare  makes  even  his  clowns  and  fools  expose  the 
vice  of  intemperance  and  the  degradation  of  drunkards. 

Olivia.  — What's  a  drunken  man  like,  fool  ? 

Clown.  — Like  a  drowned  man,  a  fool,  and  a  madman  ;  one  draught  makes 
him  a  fool,  the  second  mads  him,  and  a  third  drowns  him. 

What  a  sermon,  too,  on  the  blessings  of  temperance,  is 
contained  in  "  As  You  Like  It,"  when  Adam  says  to  his  young 
master :  — 

"  Let  me  be  your  servant  ! 

Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty  ; 

For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 

Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood  ; 

Nor  did  not  with  unbashful  forehead  woo 

The  means  of  weakness  and  debility  : 

Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 

Frosty,  but  kindly  ;  let  me  go  with  you  : 

I'll  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man 

In  all  your  business  and  necessities." 


CHAPTER   XXYI. 

THE  POLICE  DEPARTMENT  OF  NEW  YORK  — THE  DETECTIVE 
FORCE  AND  ITS  WORK— SHADOWS  AND  SHADOWING  — 
SLEUTH-HOUNDS  OF  THE  LAW. 

A  Building  that  is  Never  Closed— Police-Station  Lodgings  —  Cutting  his 
Buttons  oil  —  A  Dramatic  Scene  —  Teaching  the  Tenderfeet  —  The  Duties 
of  a  Policeman  —  Inquiries  for  Missing  Friends  —  Mysterious  Cases  — 
Clubbing  —  Night-Clubs  and  Billies  —  Scattering  a  Mob  —  Calling  for  As- 
sistance—Watching Strangers  —  "  Tom  and  Jerry"  in  a  Soup  Plate  — 
The  Harbor  Police  — The  Great  Detective  Force  and  its  Head  — Chief 
Inspector  Thomas  Byrnes  —  Sketch  of  his  Career  —  A  Proud  Record  — His 
Knowledge  of  Crooks  and  their  Ways  —  Keeping  Track  of  Thieves  and 
Criminals  —  Establishing  a  "Dead  Line  "  in  Wall  Street  — Human  De- 
pravity and  Human  Impudence  —  The  Rogues'  Gallery  —  Shadows  and 
Shadowing  —  Unraveling  Plots  —  Skillful  Detective  Work  —  Extorting 
the  Truth  —  The  Museum  of  Crime  —  What  May  Be  Seen  There  —  Disap- 
pearance of  Old  Thieves  —  Rising  Young  Criminals. 

ON  Mulberry  Street  running  through  to  Mott  Street,  in 
a  quarter  of  the  city  that  is  neither  fashionable  nor  at- 
tractive, stands  a  plain  solid  building  of  four  stories  and  a 
basement.  Its  appearance  is  so  ordinary  that  it  would  not  be 
likely  to  attract  special  attention  were  it  not  for  the  blue- 
coated  policemen  that  are  constantly  ascending  and  descending 
the  steps.  This  is  the  police  Headquarters,  the  most  important 
building  of  its  kind  in  America.  Here  are  the  offices  of  the 
Police  Commissioners,  Superintendent,  Inspectors,  Detective 
Bureau,  Health  Department,  etc.  In  the  basement  is  the 
police  telegraph  office,  the  right  arm  of  the  service,  connected 
by  telegraph  with  the  fire  department  headquarters,  Brooklyn 
police  headquarters,  all  elevated  railroads,  all  the  leading  hos- 
pitals, the  prisons,  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to 
Children,  and  many  other  institutions.  Anything  of  import- 
ance that  is  taking  place  at  the  farthest  police  point  of  the  city 

(498) 


A  BUILDING   THAT   tS   NEVEB   -  L08ED.  499 

is  instantly  known  at  the  central  office  at  headquarters,  and  if 
necessary  can  be  communicated  through  subordinate  officers  to 
every  member  of  the  Force.  The  messages  transmitted  over  the 
police  telegraph  wires  during  L890  reached  the  enormous  num- 
ber of  346,671,  of  which  202,650  were  general-alarm  messages, 
31,009  were  notices  of  dead  animals,  and  nearly  15,464  were 
calls  for  ambulances.  Notices  of  arrests,  tires,  lost  children, 
riots,  strikes,  etc..  and  miscellaneous  business  connected  with 
the  department  made  up  the  balance.  From  this  unpretentious 
edifice  orders  are  sent  out  that  govern  the  entire  force  of  three 
thousand  five  hundred  men  who  constitute  the  police  of  the 

at   metropolis.     No  city  in   the  world  is  better   protected 

nst  the  operations  of  all  classes  of  criminals.  The  expens  - 
of  the  department  are  about  $4,800,000  annually. 

The  building  is  open  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night. 
Through  its  doors  enter  beggars  and  merchant  princes,  swin- 
dlers and  philanthropists,  and  men  of  all  nationalities,  classes, 
and  professions;  some  as  criminals,  others  as  victims  seeking 
aid  from  or  protection  by  this  strong  arm  of  the  law.  A  com- 
plete record  of  all  arrests  and  for  what  crimes,  of  the  term  of 
sentence  and  place  of  imprisonment  of  those  who  are  convicted, 
and  every  item  of  criminal  occurrence  and  police  life,  is 
promptly  entered  with  great  minuteness  in  a  book  called  a 
'•blotter."  one  of  which  is  kept  at  each  station-house,  and  these 
are  consolidated  daily  in  records  kept  at  headquarters.  Each 
of  the  morning  and  evening  newspapers  keeps  a  reporter  con- 
stantly on  duty  here  until  the  hour  of  going  to  press;  he  closely 
watches  the  telegraph  and  other  returns  from  the  various  sta- 
tion-houses, and  promptly  sends  a  transcript  of  important 
events  to  his  newspaper  office.  Murders  and  other  matter  out 
of  the  common  run  of  things  put  him  on  the  alert  at  once,  and 
if  the  affair  is  of  such  magnitude  that  he  cannot  attend  to 
it  alone  he  telegraphs  to  his  managing  or  night  editor  for  aid. 

For  the  purposes  of  police  government  the  city  is  divided 
into  three  Inspection  Districts,  each  district  being  under  the 
charge  of  an  Inspector;  these  districts  are  subdivided  into 
thirty-six  precincts  which  are  presided  over  by  Captains;  and 


500 


THE  POLICE  DEPARTMENT  OF  NEW  YORK. 


these  in  turn  are  divided  by  the  captains  into  patrol  beats  or 
posts  for  the  Patrolmen. 

The  control  of  the  police  is  vested  in  four  Commissioners, 
known  as  the  Board  of  Police,  who  are  appointed  by  the  mayor 
for  six  years.  One  of  them  acts  as  president  of  the  Board ;  he 
has  the  special  duty  of  examining  all  charges  against  policemen 
before  they  are  tried,  and  all  important  letters  coming  from 
police  authorities  all  over  the  world  are  referred  to  him  for  an- 
swer. Another  commissioner  is 
chairman  of  the  Board  of  Trus- 
tees of  the  Police  Pension  Fund, 
and  a  good  part  of  his  time  is 
spent  in  investigating  claims  upon 
the  Fund,  especially  those  of  the 
widows  and  orphans  of  policemen 
who  have  died  in  the  service.  An- 
other  commissioner  is 
Treasurer  of  the  Police 
Board  and  also  of  the  Pen- 
sion Fund,  and  the  fourth 
on  the  list  has  general  over- 
sight of  the  station-houses 
and  is  chairman  of  the 
Committee  on  Supplies, 
and  has  charge  of  all  pur- 
chases pertaining  to  this 
department. 

Next  to  the  commis- 
sioners the  highest  officer 
of  the  force  is  the  superintendent.  His  duties  are  arduous,  and  his 
position  one  of  great  responsibility.  He  issues  orders  received 
from  the  commissioners,  takes  command  at  riots  or  great  fires, 
and  performs  duties  generally  devolving  upon  a  superior  com- 
manding officer.  Then  come  the  inspectors,  of  whom  there  are 
four,  one  of  whom  is  Chief  Inspector  in  charge  of  the  Detective 
Bureau,  and  in  the  absence  of  the  superintendent  acts  as  Chief  of 
Police.     Each  of  the  three  remaining  inspectors  has  charge  of 


POLICE    HEADQUARTERS  BUILDING. 


POL1CK    <>l  I'M   Ki:s    AND    TIIKI1I     DITIKS. 


501 


a  district.  They  are  responsible  for  the  preservation  of  peace 
and  the  protection  of  life  and  property  in  their  respective  dis- 
tricts. Then  come  the  captains,  thirty-six  in  all,  who  have 
charge  of  the  precincts  and  are  expected  to  maintain  order  in 

them.  Each  captain  posts  his  men  and  has  genera]  supervision 
over  them,  keeps 
an  accurate4  record 
of  daily  events, 
and  performs  nu- 
merous other  du- 
ties. Next  come 
the  sergeants,  one 
hundred  and  fifty- 
eight  in  number, 
who  are  in  authori- 
ty at  the  station- 
houses,  command 
squads  of  men  sent 
out  under  orders, 
keep  a  sharp  eye 
on  the  habits  and 
appearance  of  po- 
licemen under 
them,  and  report 
any  unfaithfulness 
on  their  part. 
Then  come  the  roundsmen,  of  whom  there  are  one4  hundred  and 
sixty-five,  who  are,  in  fact,  patrolmen  detailed  to  supervise  the 
latter  while  on  duty.  They  are  expected  to  always  appear  neatly 
attired,  and  must  set  a  good  example  of  faithfulness  and  sobri- 
ety to  the  patrolmen  under  them.  It  is  the  duty  of  a  rounds- 
man to  constantly  patrol  his  precinct  at  frequent  and  unex- 
pected times,  in  order  to  see  that  the  men  are  faithfully 
discharging  their  duty.  Then  conn4  the  patrolmen,  who  cor- 
respond to  the  rank  and  file  of  the  army,  and  number  about 
three  thousand  two  hundred  men.  And  last  come  the  eighty 
doormen  at  the  station-houses,  who  are  general  superintendents 


life 


■>.W 


MAIN     ENTKANCE     TO     TOLICE 
HEADQUARTERS    BUILDING. 


502 


POLICE  SURGEONS. 


of  the  premises,  and  wear  a  uniform  that,  combined  with  their 
muscle  and  authority,  secures  for  them  the  immediate  and  pro- 
found respect  of  all  belligerent  lodgers  and  prisoners.  Over 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  lodgings  are  annually  furnished 
to  applicants  at  the  various  station-houses,  including  men  and 
women,  boys  and  girls,  of  all  classes  and  occupations. 

There  are  eighteen  surgeons  in  the  police  department. 
They  are  members  of  the  police  force,  but  are  not  required  to 
be  uniformed.     Their  office  tenure  is  in  all  respects  the  same  as 

other    members     of    the 


force,  and  thev  are  sub- 
ject  to  the  same  general 
rules.  They  are  required 
to  attend  upon  sick  or 
wounded  policemen,  give 
medical  advice  to  pen- 
sioners when  called  upon, 
attend  wounded  or  sick 
prisoners  at  the  station- 
houses,  etc.  They  are 
permitted  to  practice  out- 
side the  Department,  pro- 
vided such  practice  does 
not  interfere  with  their 
police  duties.  In  former 
years  almost  every  person  injured  in  the  streets  was  taken  to 
a  station-house,  police  surgeons  were  sent  for,  and  the  patient 
was  treated  there.  But  now  cases  of  accident  and  sudden  sick- 
ness in  the  streets  are  generally  picked  up  by  ambulances  and 
taken  directly  to  hospitals. 

After  a  patrolman  has  served  for  twenty  years  he  can,  if 
he  desires,  be  retired  upon  a  pension  of  $600  a  year  for  the  rest 
of  his  life.  When  he  arrives  at  sixty  years  of  age  he  must  be 
retired  on  the  same  pension.  If  killed  in  the  line  of  his  duty  a 
pension  is  paid  to  his  family,  and  they  are  compensated  if 
under  the  same  circumstances  he  is  permanently  disabled. 
Officers  are  retired  upon  a  pension  based  upon  their  rank. 


PATROLMAN  S    SHIELD. 


TRYING   DELINQUENT   OFFICERS. 


503 


Twice  a  week  the  four  commissioners  meet  to  consider 
matters  affecting  the  service,  issue  orders  which  arc  to  be  exe- 
cuted through  the  superintendent,  and  attend  to  other  business 
that  may  come  before  them.  Once  a  week  one  of  them  pre- 
sides at  the  trial  of  officers  against  whom  charges  have  been 
preferred  ;  the  charges  and  testimony  are  written  out  by  the 
stenographers  of  the  Board,  and  if  the  case  is  an  important  one 


VC\^ 


MIDNIGHT   KOLL   CALL   AT    A   POLICE    STATION -Hi  >l  BE. 
"PRESENT   ASMS." 


the  testimony  must  be  examined  by  at  least  three  of  the  com- 
missioners before  linal  action  is  taken.  That  this  work  is  not 
light  can  be  understood  when  it  is  known  that  every  year 
there  are  upwards  of  3,000  complaints  against  officers,  most  of 
them  for  neglect  of  duty  and  violation  of  the  rules.  Nearly 
all  of  the  complaints  are  made  by  their  superiors,  and  some 
upon  affidavits  by  citizens  ;  and  in  all  cases  the  trial  is  as  thor- 
ough as  possible.  Even  were  the  commissioners  inclined  to  be 
careless  in  their  trials,  they  would  be  prevented  from  being  so 


504  A  DRAMATIC   SCENE. 

by  the  fact  that  their  action  may  be  reviewed  by  the  civil 
courts. 

The  punishments  may  be  dismissal,  fine,  reprimand,  or  sus- 
pension from  duty  with  loss  of  pay.  The  dismissals  are  mostly 
for  intoxication  ;  fines,  suspensions,  and  reprimands  are  im- 
posed for  infractions  of  duty  of  a  minor  degree ;  and  it  is  the 
effort  of  the  commissioners  to  "make  the  punishment  fit  the 
crime."  Fully  one-fifth  of  the  complaints  are  dismissed.  Any 
punishment  that  is  imposed  is  made  known  to  all  the  officers 
in  the  precinct  to  which  the  offender  belongs,  and  the  example 
is  believed  to  be  very  salutary. 

There  was  a  dramatic  scene  at  police  headquarters  a  few 
months  ago.  JSTo  man  who  has  been  convicted  of  a  crime  can 
be  admitted  to  the  police  force,  and  every  applicant  must 
make  oath  that  he  has  never  been  so  convicted.  It  was 
charged  that  a  certain  patrolman  had  served  a  term  in  prison 
for  robbery  ;  the  charge  was  specific,  and  on  trial  before  the 
commissioners  it  was  clearly  proven  and  finally  admitted  by 
the  defendant. 

Here  was  a  man  entrusted  with  the  prevention  and  punish- 
ment of  crime  who  was*  himself  a  criminal  and  as  such  had 
served  a  term  in  prison  !  When  the  facts  were  laid  before 
them  the  commissioners  were  highly  indignant,  and  at  the 
close  of  the  trial  the  man  was  summarily  dismissed  from  the 
force. 

But  his  dismissal  did  not  follow  the  ordinary  form.  The 
commissioners  were  all  present,  and  so  were  the  superintend- 
ent, the  inspectors,  and  the  captains.  Then  all  the  sergeants, 
roundsmen,  and  patrolmen  connected  with  headquarters  were 
drawn  up  in  a  line,  and  many  other  persons  were  present.  The 
president  of  the  Board  read  the  charge  and  sentence,  on  which 
he  made  severe  comments,  and  then  with  a  knife  he  cut  but- 
ton after  button  from  the  uniform  of  the  culprit  until  not  one 
remained.  As  each  button  struck  the  floor  the  sound  that  it 
made  was  audible  to  everybody,  so  complete  was  the  silence 
of  the  assemblage.  When  the  last  button  fell  the  man  was 
ordered  from  the  presence  of  the  commissioners  and  handed 


NECESSARY   QUALIFICATIONS  OF  A  POLICEMAN.  505 

over  to  be  tried  for  perjury  on  account  of  the  oath  be  had 
taken  to  secure  his  appointment  on  the  force.     In  another  < 
an   officer  who  proved   to   be  an  ex-convict   and   who  had  se- 
cured his  appointment  by  perjury  was  sentenced  to  ten  years' 
penal  servitude. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  such  occurrences  are  rare.  Every  ap- 
plicant for  a  place  on  the  police  must  have  the  names  of  live 
citizens  upon  his  petition,  all  of  whom  certify  to  his  sobriety, 
industry,  and  good  moral  character.  He  must  be  truthful  and 
respectful,  of  perfect  physical  health  and  development,  and 
have  no  tendency  to  constitutional  disease.  lie  must  be  not 
less  than  five  feet,  seven  and  a  half  inches  in  height,  must 
weigh  not  less  than  one  hundred  and  thirty-eight  pounds,  and 
measure  at  least  thirty-three  and  a  half  inches  around  the  chest 
without  clothing.  He  must  be  able  to  read  and  write  the 
English  language,  and  have  a  knowledge  of  local  and  general 
law  enough  to  comprehend  the  duties  of  a  policeman. 

About  sixty  per  cent,  of  the  police  are  of  American  birth, 
and  thirty-three  per  cent.  Irish;  all  other  nationalities  con- 
tribute about  seven  per  cent.,  the  Germans  being  in  the  lead. 
Many  of  those  born  in  the  United  States  are  of  Irish  parent- 
age, so  that  the  Hibernian  element  is  pretty  large.  But  what- 
ever the  nationality,  the  discipline  of  the  force  is  such  that  a 
bad  man  cannot  long  remain,  nor  can  he  easily  find  a  place  in 
the  service  to  begin  with. 

There  are  two  schools  of  instruction,  or  rather  two  depart- 
ments of  one  school.  The  schoolroom  is  in  the  headquarters 
building,  and  very  much  resembles  a  study  room  of  a  large 
academy.  The  new  appointees  —  or  "  tenderfeet,"  as  the  old 
veterans  call  them  —  occupy  rows  of  benches  facing  their 
teacher,  who  sits  at  a  table  on  a  raised  platform,  and  scolds, 
praises,  and  rules  like  a  country  schoolmaster.  No  whispering 
is  allowed;  offenders,  instead  of  being  soundly  birched,  are 
fined.  They  are  afterwards  thoroughly  drilled  in  soldier 
fashion,  singly  and  in  squads,  companies,  and  platoons,  and  re- 
ceive a  course  of  training  by  a  surgeon  so  that  they  may  know 
what  to  do  to  aid  the  injured.     There  are  more  than  two 


506 


TEACHING  POLICEMEN  THEIR  DUTIES. 


hundred  rules  to  govern  their  conduct  as  patrolmen,  and  cover- 
ing all  possible  situations  in  which  they  may  find  themselves. 
One  of  the  most  important  rules  is  that  they  must  not  allow 
their  temper  to  control  them  instead  of  their  judgment  when 
dealing  with  individuals  who  may  be  "  spoiling  for  a  fight." 

The  duties  of  a  policeman  are  of  the  most  exacting  kind, 
and   upon  their   faithful   performance   depends  the   security, 


policemen's  school  of  instruction,     new  members  studying  and  re- 
citing THEIR  LESSONS. 

peace,  and  prosperity  of  the  city.  He  is  required  to  pay  care- 
ful attention  to  his  personal  appearance,  and  in  the  discharge 
of  his  duty  he  is  always  expected  to  be  brushed,  blacked,  clean- 
shirted,  and  trim.  He  is  forbidden  to  discuss  politics  and  re- 
ligion with  his  comrades  or  any  one  else  ;  and  even  the  use  of 
slang  is  forbidden  to  him,  although  he  generally  has  a  pretty 
extensive  acquaintance  with  it.  Nor  is  he  allowed  to  drink, 
borrow  money  from  fellow  officers,  or  accept  rewards,  free 
passes  or  tickets,  although  the  last  rule  is  more  honored  in  the 
breach  than  in  the  observance. 


CARING   FOR  LOST   CHILDREN.  509 

Night  and  day.  rain  or  shine,  when  his  tonr  of  duty  begins 
he  must  go  on  his  post  and  be  prepared  to  meet  all  kinds  of 
danger.  lie  may  encounter  stealthy  sneak  thieves,  red-handed 
murderers,  and  lurking  and  desperate  foes  of  all  kinds ;  and  he 
must  be  ever  ready  to  subdue  gangs  of  noisy  and  refractory 
brawlers  in  tough  resorts.  When  patrolling  his  beat  at  night 
he  must  see  that  no  aperture  through  which  a  thief  could  enter 
is  left  open  or  insecure.  He  must  have  an  eye  to  windows, 
doors,  gratings,  and  coal-chutes.  On  an  average  about  twenty- 
six  hundred  buildings  annually  are  carelessly  left  open  at  the 
close  of  business  by  clerks  or  owners,  and  on  the  list  are  promi- 
nent banks,  churches,  and  hundreds  of  stores.  While  at  his 
post  he  may  be  called  upon  to  answer  all  sorts  of  questions, 
give  advice,  make  arrests,  aid  the  sick  and  injured,  quell 
drunken  and  riotous  brawls,  and  he  should  be  constantly  on 
the  alert  to  discover  fires,  burglars,  and  property  in  peril  in 
any  way.  He  must  take  lost  children  to  the  Matron's  room  at 
police  headquarters,  often  buying  them  dainties  on  the  way 
to  keep  them  in  good  humor.  There  is  no  part  of  the  duties 
of  a  policeman  which  calls  forth  so  much  sympathy  as  does 
the  discovery  and  care  of  a  lost  child,  and  yet  he  would  rather 
tackle  a  man  twice  his  size  than  carry  a  little,  dirty,  tearful, 
rebellious,  or  frightened  youngster  to  headquarters. 

More  than  3,000  lost  children  are  annually  found  in  the 
streets  of  Xew  York.  If  the  child's  name  can  be  ascertained, 
it  is  entered,  along  with  other  particulars,  in  a  book  kept  for 
this  purpose.  If  the  name  and  address  cannot  be  ascertained, 
an  accurate  description  of  person  and  clothing  is  recorded,  and 
the  same  is  telegraphed  to  all  stations.  By  this  means  lost 
children  are  restored  to  their  homes  in  a  very  short  time,  leav- 
ing but  a  small  number  unclaimed. 

Communications  are  constantly  being  received  from  all 
parts  of  the  world,  requesting  information  of  friends  and  rela- 
tives who  have  not  been  seen  or  heard  of  for  periods  extending 
from  one  month  to  thirty  years.  The  greatest  attention  is  given 
to  all  these  cases.  Officers  are  sent  to  the  localities  where  such 
missing  persons  have  resided,  and  old  residents  are  interviewed. 


510 


MYSTERIOUS   CASES   AND   MISSING   PERSONS. 


thus  often  obtaining  correct  and  accurate  information.  Often- 
times it  transpires  that  the  persons  inquired  for  are  dead,  in 
which  cases  death  certificates  are  procured  and  forwarded  to 
the  inquirer. 

Very  mysterious  circumstances  often  surround  these  cases. 
When  an  inquiry  for  a  missing  person  is  received,  the  records  of 


MEETING  PLACE  OF  TELEGRAPH  WIRES  AT  POLICE  HEADQUARTERS  COMMUNI- 
CATING WITH  ALL  PARTS  OF  THE  WORLD. 

the  Department  relating  to  persons  arrested  or  sent  to  hospi- 
tals, sick  or  injured,  are  carefully  consulted ;  and  if  the  desired 
information  cannot  be  obtained  from  thfs  source,  an  accurate 
description  of  the  missing  person  is  recorded  in  a  book  kept  for 
this  purpose,  and  the  members  of  the  department  are  notified 
of  the  same  by  telegraph.  An  officer  is  detailed  for  duty  at  the 
Morgue,  and  it  is  his  place  to  make  a  daily  report  to  headquar- 
ters, giving  an  accurate  description  of  all  unclaimed  dead  bod- 
ies, which  report  is  kept  in  a  book.  In  all  cases  the  record  of 
missing  persons  is  consulted  to  ascertain  if  any  resemblance 
exists  between  the  description  of  such  dead  body  and  any  miss- 


WHEN   CLUBBING   IS   NECESSARY.  511 

ing  person.  About  two  hundred  dead  bodies  are  annually  re- 
ceived at  the  Morgue,  of  which  number  only  about  one-third 
are  identified  and  cared  for  by  friends;  the  rest  are  buried  in 
the  Potters  Field  at  the  city's  expense.  Many  of  these  are 
undoubtedly  homeless  persons  without  family  or  friends. 

The  fact  that  so  large  a  number  of  persons  are  found  dead 
in  one  year  in  Xew  York  and  not  identified  by  relations  or 
friends  is  a  striking  illustration  of  the  truth  that  it  is  compara- 
tively easy  to  become  utterly  lost  in  a  great  city. 

A  policeman  may  be  called  at  any  time  to  the  courts  to  tes- 
tify against  criminals,  or  he  may  be  ordered  to  don  citizen's 
garb  and  play  detective  here  or  there,  or  be  called  away  at  any 
instant  to  help  to  form  fire  lines  in  his  own  or  any  other  pre- 
cinct. Parades,  weddings,  political  gatherings,  elections,  and 
scores  of  other  exigencies  are  liable  to  arise  at  any  time,  and 
these  make  still  farther  demands  upon  him.  Even  when  a  short 
period  of  needed  rest  comes,  he  must  still  be  ever  ready  for  a 
sudden  call  to  duty  again. 

They  are  instructed  not  to  use  unnecessary  violence  in  the 
discharge  of  their  duty.  Notwithstanding  this,  they  have  fre- 
quently been  charged  with  a  free  use  of  the  club  on  occasions 
when  it  was  not  needed.  With  some  officers  there  is  doubtless 
a  temptation  to  wield  the  club  when  milder  measures  might  an- 
swer just  as  well.  Much  depends  upon  the  surroundings  and 
the  character  of  the  offender;  in  the  dangerous  parts  of  the 
city  he  is  justified  in  employing  severity  under  circumstances 
that  would  be  reprehensible  in  other  portions. 

"As  to  clubbing,"  said  an  old  officer,  "there  is  no  doubt 
that  some  of  the  men  lose  their  temper  sooner  than  others  do, 
and  then  use  the  club  unjustifiably.  The  club  is  put  into  the 
hands  of  a  policeman  for  use,  so  that  he  thinks  logically  he  has 
a  right  to  use  it  when  necessary.  Xow,  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  use  it  sometimes,  unless  the  officer  is  willing  to  sacrifice 
his  life.  In  some  parts  of  the  city,  especially  in  the  Fourth 
Ward,  we  have  perfect  devils  to  deal  with.  "Within  the  last 
week  no  less  than  half  a  dozen  of  my  men  have  come  into  the 
station  with  their  clothes  actually  torn  off  them." 


512 


COURAGE  AND  DISCIPLINE. 


Every  citizen  has  a  right  of  complaint  when  he  thinks  an 
officer  has  gone  beyond  his  duty,  and  he  can  be  sure  that  the 
case  will  receive  a  searching  investigation  at  the  hands  of  the 
Commissioners. 

Patrolmen  carry  the  long  regulation  club  at  night  and  the 
short  billy  in  the  daytime.  They  are  allowed  to  carry  either 
of  these  weapons  in  their  hands  if  they  choose  to,  instead  of 
carrying  them  in  the  "frog"  attached  to  their  belts.     Clubs 

are  made  of  sound  locust  wood, 
which  is  not  so  apt  to  split  as  hick- 
ory and  oak.  The  night  club  is 
twenty-two  inches  long  and  one 
and  three  -  eighths  inches  thick. 
The  billy  is  of  various  sizes. 

The  discipline  and  training  of 
the  police  are  especially  noticeable 
in  times  of  disturbance,  and  the 
services  they  have  rendered  are 
worthy  of  all  praise.  Instances 
of  cowardice  are  extremely  rare. 
Cases  can  be  multiplied  in  which 
policemen  have  shown  extraor- 
dinary courage  in  the  pursuit  and 
capture  of  criminals,  and  generally 
they  are  ready  to  perform  their 
duty,  however  dangerous,  without  ever  thinking  of  consequences 
to  themselves.  In  the  great  draft  riots,  and  in  strikes  during 
more  recent  years,  they  have  held  the  mob  in  check  and  saved 
millions  of  property  from  destruction. 

During  the  strike  of  the  employees  of  the  Third  Avenue 
Surface  Railway  Company  a  mob  assembled  at  the  corner  of 
Third  Avenue  and  Fifty-ninth  Street,  Avhere  there  was  a  large 
quantity  of  building-material.  The  police  formed  in  a  solid 
phalanx  extending  across  the  avenue,  and  when  the  order  to 
advance  was  given  they  moved  with  a  solid  front  in  perfect 
alignment.  The  mob  greeted  them  with  a  shower  of  bricks, 
and  several  policemen  fell  stunned  to  the  ground.      But  the 


POLICEMEN  S    BTLLY,    DAY   CLUB, 
AND  NIGHT   STICK. 


EFFICIENT   GUARDIANS   OF   THE   PEACE.  513 

lines  closed,  the  men,  armed  with  their  heavy  nighl  clubs,  were 
ordered  to  charge,  and  they  obeyed  the  order  with  the  prompt- 
ness of  a  military  detachment.  With  their  powerful  weapons, 
which  never  miss  fire  and  require  no  reloading,  they  fell  upon 
the  mob,  and  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  the  story  there 
were  a  dozen  rioters  stretched  on  the  pavement,  and  the  rest 
of  the  mob  was  in  full  flight  in  all  directions  where  flight  was 
possible.  The  police  carried  out  the  orders  of  their  superiors 
with  the  efficiency  of  soldiers  of  the  regular  army. 

The  police  have  a  great  antipathy  to  labor  strikes  and  the 
disorder  that  accompanies  them,  and  when  they  come  in  con- 
tact with  a  striking  mob  they  are  not  tender  in  their  ways  of 
handling  it.  Strikes  mean  long  hours  of  duty  and  hard  work 
for  the  police;  in  the  Third  Avenue  strike  most  of  the  men 
were  on  duty  day  and  night  for  a  week  or  more,  unable  to  re- 
move their  clothing,  and  only  getting  what  sleep  they  could 
manage  to  secure  at  half-hour  intervals  in  the  station-houses. 

The  prevention  of  crime  is  the  first  great  duty  of  the  police- 
man. To  this  end  the  patrolman  is  expected  to  know  by  sight 
pretty  nearly  every  person  residing  in  the  district  in  his  charge, 
and  also  to  know  his  name  and  occupation.  He  keeps  a  watch- 
ful eye  on  strangers,  and  if  any  suspicious  movements  come 
under  his  observation  it  is  his  duty  to  investigate  them. 
Strangers  with  bundles,  late  at  night,  especially  in  suspicious 
localities  or  in  the  neighborhood  of  shops  or  stores,  are  liable 
to  be  questioned  by  the  patrolman,  and  their  parcels  examined. 
Unless  they  can  give  a  good  account  of  themselves  and  show 
that  their  actions  are  honest  and  their  possessions  honestly  ob- 
tained, they  are  liable  to  be  "run  in."  Should  a  patrolman 
want  assistance,  he  raps  with  his  club  on  the  sidewalk,  and  any 
other  patrolman  hearing  the  signal  will  come  at  once  to  his 
aid.  By  a  system  of  raps  he  can  indicate  to  other  officers  the 
route  he  has  taken  if  in  pursuit  of  any  person  in  the  night-time. 

Patrolmen  on  duty  are  forbidden  to  enter  a  saloon  except 
to  make  an  arrest  or  quell  a  disturbance.  They  may  some- 
times be  seen  slyly  taking  a  drink  at  a  bar,  but  they  run 
the  risk  of  being  reported,  with  a  resulting  fine  or  dismissal. 


514     ■ 

One  cold,  sleety,  and  very  disagreeable  winter  night  a 
friend  of  mine  saw  a  shivering  policeman  whom  he  knew 
standing  near  the  door  of  a  fashionable  saloon  on  Broadway. 
Inside  the  saloon  all  was  brightness  and  warmth,  making  the 
night  without  seem  all  the  more  dreary.  With  a  heartfelt 
compassion  for  the  faithful  guardian  of  the  peace,  who  was 
compelled  by  duty  to  face  the  sleety  storm,  my  friend  invited 
him  to  take  a  "Tom  and  Jerry,"  a  beverage  which  is  popu- 
larly supposed  to  be  particularly  cheering  on  a  bitterly  cold 
night. 

"I'd  like  it,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "but  it's  agin  the  rules  for 
me  to  go  inside." 

"I'll  send  it  out  to  you,"  said  the  good  Samaritan. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  he  softly  said.  "And  if  you 
don't  mind  I'll  go  'round  to  the  side  entrance  and  take  it  there. 
Please  send  it  out  in  a  soup-plate  with  a  spoon  in  it." 

A  waiter  soon  emerged  at  the  side  entrance  with  the  hot 
"Tom  and  Jerry"  in  a  soup-plate,  and  the  benumbed  police- 
man set  vigorously  to  work  at  once  with  the  spoon.  He  had 
finished  about  a  quarter  of  the  contents  of  the  dish  Avhen  the 
roundsman  suddenly  appeared. 

"What  are  you  eating,  officer?"  queried  the  roundsman  in 
a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  A  plate  of  soup,  sir,"  was  the  meek  reply. 

"Let  me  see  it." 

The  plate  was  handed  over,  and  the  roundsman  tasted  the 
"soup"  silently  and  with  evident  relish  until  not  a  drop 
remained.  Then  he  returned  the  empty  plate,  and  said  with 
stern  emphasis,  as  he  started  on  his  way,  "Officer,  don't  you 
take  any  more  soup  of  that  sort,  or  you'll  get  into  trouble." 

"  I  won't,  sir,"  said  the  policeman  humbly,  "  if  you'll  excuse 
me  this  time.     I've  never  done  so  before." 

Evidently  no  complaint  was  made,  as  the  patrolman  was 
never  "summoned." 

Arrests  are  to  be  made  when  required  to  prevent  a  disturb- 
ance of  the  peace,  or  in  case  of  a  crime  being  committed,  or 
of  persons  acting  in  a  suspicious  manner,  and  for  all  offenses 


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LITTLE  FOUNDLINGS   AND   STREET    WAIFS.  517 

coming  within  the  view  and  hearing  of  the  officer,  Intoxi- 
cated persons  are  not  disturbed  as  long  as  they  conduct  them- 
selves  quietly;   they   are  ordered   "to  move  on"  and  "keep 

moving"  and  as  long  as  they  do  this  and  are  not  noisy  they 
are  safe  from  arrest. 

Although  two  hundred  or  more  foundlings  and  upwards  of 
one  hundred  dead  infants  are  taken  charge  of  by  the  police 
every  year,  it  is  well-known  that  these  are  but  a  few  of  the 
actual  number  annually  abandoned  by  poverty-stricken  and 
unnatural  mothers.  The  foundlings  are  of  all  ages  from  the 
little  mite  a  few  hours  old  to  the  baby  of  one  or  two  years. 
Most  of  them  are  discovered  after  dark,  on  the  streets,  in  dark 
alleys  or  hallways,  and  not  infrequently  on  somebody's  door- 
step. They  are  generally  found  laid  away  in  baskets  or  boxes 
partially  filled  with  old  clothes  or  cotton;  some  are  wrapped 
in  nothing  but  newspapers,  while  others  are  entirely  naked. 
Occasionally  one  is  found  whose  fine  garments  indicate  that 
its  parents  do  not  belong  to  the  poor  classes. 

When  a  policeman  finds  an  abandoned  infant  he  at  once 
takes  it  to  the  station-house  of  his  precinct,  where  an  accurate 
description  of  the  babe  and  its  clothing  is  carefully  recorded  in 
a  book  kept  for  that  purpose,  with  the  name  of  the  officer 
finding  the  same,  where  found,  under  what  circumstances,  and 
any  other  facts  which  may  be  of  interest  or  which  may  lead 
to  the  discovery  of  the  parents  of  the  child.  The  infant  is 
then  sent  to  the  Matron  of  the  lost  children's  room  at  Police 
Headquarters  for  temporary  care,  and  by  her  is  sent,  with  a 
statement  of  all  the  facts  in  the  case,  to  the  Infant's  Hospital 
on  Randall's  Island,  or  to  some  protectory.  Many  of  these 
unfortunate  little  ones  are  taken  into  asylums  and  institutions 
founded  for  the  special  purpose  of  caring  for  them ;  some  are 
adopted  into  families,  and  a  few  are  sent  into  the  country. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  discover  the  perpetrators  of  this 
crime,  and  still  more  so  to  secure  the  arrest  and  conviction  of 
the  offenders.  There  is  usually  an  organized  conspiracy  in 
each  case  to  keep  secret  every  detail  and  circumstance  that 
would  lead  to  the  discovery  of  the  unfortunate  mother. 


518 


THE  HARBOR  POLICE. 


The  Harbor  Police  is  a  special  branch  of  the  service  under 
the  command  of  a  captain,  with  headquarters  on  a  steamer 
named  the  "  Patrol."  The  force  is  provided  with  six  row- 
boats,  three  of  which,  manned  by  one  roundsman  and  two  patrol- 
men each,  constantly  patrol  the  harbor,  the  others  being  held 
in  reserve.     The  police  boat  is  called  into  requisition  whenever 


HARBOR  POLICE    SEARCHING   FOR  RIVER   THIEVES. 


fire  breaks  out  on  the  wharves  or  amongst  the  shipping,  or  in 
any  of  the  streets  lying  adjacent  to  the  water  front.  The  crew 
are  expected  to  quell  mutinies,  to  arrest  quarrelsome  or  insub- 
ordinate sailors,  prevent  smuggling,  check  depredations  upon 
marine  property,  and  preserve  general  order  in  the  harbor. 
During  the  excursion  season  the  "Patrol"  attends  at  the 
wharves  from  which  the  steamers  and  barges  start,  the  officers 


THE   DETECTIVE   DEPARTMENT.  519 

going  on  board  to  ascertain  whether  disreputable  characters 

are  likely  to  make  the  excursion  disorderly,  often  finding  it 
necessary  to  make  arrests.  If  there4  be  good  reason  to  believe 
that  the  excursionists  will  be  disorderly,  the  "  Patrol"  meets 
them  on  their  return  to  the  city  and  attends  them  until  they 
disperse  at  the  dock.  The  "Patrol"  is  manned  by  an  efficient 
crew  and  is  tin4  dread  of  wharf  and  harbor  thieves. 

The  Detective  Bureau  occupies  separate  apartments  at 
police  Headquarters.  The  force  numbers  two  regular  ser- 
geants, forty  detective-sergeants,  and  fourteen  patrolmen  de- 
tailed for  detective  duty. 

The  head  and  guiding  spirit  of  this  department  is  Inspector 
Thomas  Byrnes,  who  has  been  constantly  and  prominently 
before  the  public  in  this  capacity  for  many  years.  lie  is  a 
native  of  Ireland,  but  is  of  American  training.  He  entered  the 
force  in  L863  and  steadily  rose  through  its  several  grades  to  his 
present  office.  Under  his  efficient  administration  the  Detective 
Bureau  has  attained  to  world-wide  importance.  He  knows  the 
methods  and  characteristics  of  "crooks"  and  possesses  a  thor- 
ough knowledge  of  their  haunts.  When  in  pursuit  of  criminals 
lie  exhibits  unerring  sagacity  and  unwearying  persistence  that 
sooner  or  later  brings  the  fugitives  to  justice. 

No  one  man  in  this  country  or  in  Europe  is  a  more  success- 
ful chief  of  detectives.  His  acceptance  of  the  trust  marked  the 
first  successful  attempt  to  give  New  York  city  a  detective  de- 
partment worthy  of  the  name.  Bank-robberies,  forgeries,  em- 
bezzlements, burglaries,  pocket-picking,  and  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  crime,  are  referred  to  this  bureau,  and  the 
Inspector  is  in  close  relations  with  the  police  of  all  parts  of  the 
country  and  the  world.  The  Headquarters  detectives  know 
every  "  crook  "  in  the  city,  and  are  constantly  advised  of  their 
movements.  They  know  the  style  of  work  of  every  profes- 
sional thief  in  the  country,  and  when  a  robbery  and  the  circum- 
stances attending  it  are  reported  they  can  generally  name  the 
operator  to  whom  it  should  be  credited.  Whenever  experts  in 
crime  are  released  from  prison  their  movements  are  watched ; 
if  they  are  from  New  York  they  almost  invariably  return  there 


520 


INSPECTOR  BYRNES  AND   HIS  METHODS. 


and  proceed  to  hatch  new  crimes.  The  detectives  are  usually 
able  to  head  them  off,  and  many  of  them  have  found  the  at- 
mosphere of  the  metropolis  so  warm  that  they  have  sought 
other  fields  of  enterprise. 

Before  Inspector  Byrnes  took  charge  of  the  detective  de- 
partment, Wall  Street  and  its  vicinity  had  been  infested  by 
gangs  of  bank-thieves,  forgers,  and  pickpockets,  who  had  for 
years  carried  on  their  nefarious  operations  and  found  it  a  fer- 
tile field.   Bank-messengers  were  knocked  down  and  plundered, 

tin  boxes  filled  with  securities 
were  snatched  from  the  hands  of 
elderly  gentlemen,  and  piles  of 
greenbacks  were  grasped  at  bank 
counters,  where  those  who  had 
just  received  the  money  were  as- 
certaining if  the  count  of  the  cash- 
ier was  correct.  The  mysterious 
disappearance  of  fat  pocketbooks, 
and  the  theft  of  bonds  and  valua- 
ble papers  from  counting-room, 
banks,  and  vaults,  was  a  frequent 
occurrence,  and  complaints  were 
numerous.  Determined  to  rid 
the  street  of  these  criminals, 
whose  operations  were  constantly 
growing  bolder,  Inspector  Byrnes  quietly  hired  an  office  at  his 
own  expense  in  Wall  Street  and  installed  therein  nine  of  his 
best  men.  He  established  a  "  dead  line  "  at  Fulton  Street,  and 
each  detective  had  positive  instructions  to  arrest  any  pro- 
fessional thief  found  south  of  that  line,  who  was  obliged 
to  give  a  good  account  of  himself  or  be  sent  to  Black- 
well's  Island  as  an  habitual  criminal.  Suspicious  persons 
were  obliged  to  give  a  satisfactory  reason  for  being  in  the 
vicinity.  A  professional  thief  who  had  legitimate  business 
down  town  at  any  time  was  obliged  to  obtain  a  pass  from  one 
of  the  detectives,  who  always  granted  it  as  soon  as  convinced 
that  the  thief  was  acting  in  good  faith.     But  woe  betide  him 


HANDCUFFS. 


RIDDIXo    WALL  STREET   OF  THIEVES. 


521 


if  the  pass  was  made  to  cover  the  least  iniquity!     So  complete 
was  the  system  of  espionage  established  that  small  chance  was 

Left  for  even  the  most  wily  criminals  to  ply  their  vocation,  and 
they  soon  deserted  the  locality.  A  special  room  in  the  Stock 
Exchange  is  now  set  apart  for  the  detectives,  ten  or  twelve  of 
whom  are  con- 
stantly on  duty 
there.  The  re- 
sult is  that  of 
late  years  there 
has  been  very 
little  heard  of 
robbery  in  Wall 
Street,  and  the 
many  millions 
of  money  in  and 
around  it  are 


is 
as   though 

constantly  un- 
der lock  and 
key. 

The  mem- 
bers of  the  Stock 
Exchange  were 
so  pleased  with 
the  success  of  In- 
spector Byrnes 
in  ridding  Wall 

Street  of  thieves  and  thieving,  that  they  subscribed  five  hund- 
red dollars  for  the  presentation  of  a  handsome  gold  watch  to 
that  energetic  and  capable  officer. 

Alas  for  human  depravity  and  human  impudence  !  AVhile 
the  stockbrokers  were  assembled  to  make  the  presentation,  and 
the  president  of  the  Exchange  was  delivering  a  well-worded 
speech  to  the  gallant  Inspector,  in  which  the  thanks  of  the  bro- 
kers were  duly  set  forth,  an  unregenerate  thief  stole  the  presi- 
dent's splendid  new  fur-lined  overcoat,  and  got  away  with  it 


PRISONERS     CELLS    EN'    THE    BASEMENT     OF    A    i'OLICE 
STATION-HOUSE. 


522  A  BUSINESS  SHROUDED  IN  MYSTERY. 

successfully.  And  no  man  to  this  day  knows  just  how  the  theft 
was  committed  nor  who  was  the  thief. 

Inspector  Byrnes  is  earnestly  devoted  to  his  work.  Only 
recently  he  said :  "  My  business  is  never  spoken  of  at  home. 
Men  say  they  leave  the  shop  when  the  door  is  closed  and  think 
no  more  about  work  till  next  morning.  That  is  not  the  truth. 
The  man  whose  heart  and  soul  is  in  his  work  never  lets  it  wTholly 
escape.  I  do  not  dream  of  my  work,  but  I  go  to  bed  and  lie 
there  for  hours  studying  a  case.  When  I  get  a  clue  I  go  to 
sleep  and  follow  it  up  the  next  day.  If  it  is  one  on  which  I 
have  failed  for  the  tenth  time,  I  review  each  mistake  and  out 
of  the  corrections  evolve  the  eleventh. 

"  During  the  day  I  am  generally  here,  and  every  night  is 
filled  with  engagements.  Sunday  I  am  here  at  salvation  work. 
In  other  words,  I  clean  house.  Six  days  of  every  week  bring 
me  personal  letters  from  people  in  every  walk  of  life.  Some  of 
them  are  curious,  all  are  interesting,  and  each  is  a  clue  to  a 
mystery.  Here  and  there  is  a  sheet  of  notepaper  from  which  a 
crest  has  been  scraped  or  cut,  and  quite  as  often  a  letter-head, 
carefully  decapitated.  If  anything  happened  to  me  and  these 
letters  should  fall  into  strangers'  hands,  there  might  be  trouble. 
It  is  only  fair  to  the  people  who  trust  me  that  I  protect  them, 
and  so  every  Sunday  morning  I  unlock  this  desk,  carefully  look 
over  the  week's  mail  and  destroy  letters,  the  publication  of 
which  would  blight  innocent  lives,  break  up  families,  do  vio- 
lence to  individual  welfare,  and  shock  society." 

As  he  spoke  the  Inspector  unlocked  the  little  desk,  the 
table  and  pigeon-holes  of  wThich  were  piled  and  packed  with 
the  reputations  of  men  and  women,  families  and  firms. 

"  Do  you  like  your  life  ? "  was  asked. 

"  Immensely.  There  is  a  fascination  about  a  m\Tstery  that 
human  nature  cannot  resist.  My  business  is  shrouded  in  mys- 
tery, and  the  more  difficult  it  is  to  unravel  the  harder  I  work. 
There  is  no  satisfaction,  no  glory,  no  growth  in  doing  the 
thing  that  is  easy  enough  for  anybody  to  do." 

"  Do  you  see  many  tears  ? " 

"  Oceans  of  them.     Some  break  my  heart,  some  annoy  me, 


SHADOWS  AND  SHADOWING.  523 

and  some  amuse  me.  As  a  rule  women's  tears  get  the  better 
of  me.  I  am  willing  togive  them  the  advantage  because  they 
are  women.     But  all  the  crying  is  not  done  by  the  fair  sex." 

In  recognition  of  his  kindness  to  members  of  the  Italian 
colony  in  New  York,  and  for  his  efforts  in  promoting  extradi- 
tion between  Italy  and  this  country.  Inspector  Byrnes  was  re- 
cently knighted  by  King  Humbert  of  Italy.  But  the  Inspector 
is  a  modest  and  unassuming  man  and  he  welcomed  this  evi- 
dence of  respect  less  as  a  compliment  to  him  personally  than 
as  honor  to  the  force  of  which  he  is  the  head  and  representa- 
tive. "For  myself,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  value  pomp,  or  circum- 
stance, or  title,  preferring  to  live  and  die  the  very  plain  man 
I  am;  but  for  the  office  which  I  represent  and  the  police  force 
to  which  I  have  given  twenty-eight  years  of  my  life  without 
incurring  censure  or  inviting  disgrace  once,  I  am  very  grateful 
indeed." 

In  the  Department  at  Police  Headquarters  is  the  Rogues' 
Gallery,  where  the  portraits  of  several  thousand  professional 
criminals  are  preserved,  together  with  their  records.  When  a 
professional  dies  his  portrait  is  retired  from  the  Rogues' 
Gallery,  and  the  same  is  the  case  when  one  reforms.  In  the 
former  instances  the  retirement  is  based  upon  absolute  proof  of 
demise ;  in  the  latter,  it  is  done  at  the  request  of  the  reformed 
after  a  certain  period  of  upright  living  which  is  vouched  for 
by  several  reputable  citizens.  But  the  photograph  is  not  de- 
stroyed ;  it  is  kept  where  it  can  be  easily  found  in  case  the 
man  or  woman  should  again  relapse  into  crime. 

Detectives  were  formerly  called  "shadows."  By  the  term 
"shadowing"  is  meant  that  vigilant  watch  is  kept  upon  the 
culprit  by  some  one  who  follows  him  like  his  own  shadow,  and 
to  do  this  successfully  indicates  no  small  degree  of  skill  on  the 
part  of  the  detective.  There  is  no  manual  to  guide  detect- 
ives in  their  work.  To  be  successful  in  their  profession  they 
must  be  good  judges  of  human  nature,  possess  astuteness, 
alertness,  sagacity,  persistence,  patience,  physical  activity, 
and  great  endurance.  The  most  skillful  detectives  are  those 
who  have   been  trained  by  long  and  varied  experience,   and 


524 


UNRAVELING  PLOTS   AND  FOLLOWING  CLUES. 


who,  although  veterans,  still  retain  the  ardor  and  enthusiasm 
of  novices.  Oftentimes  from  insignificant  signs  that  occasion- 
ally surround  the  most  mysterious  crimes  they  are  able  to  con- 
struct a  complete  and  correct  theory  of  the  motive  and  opera- 
tions of  the  criminal.  They  acquire  a  wonderful  memory  and 
seldom  fail  to  recognize  a  face  they  have  once  seen,  however 
altered  or  disguised  it  may  be.  It  becomes  second  nature  to 
them  to  unravel  plots,  unmask  falsehoods,  and  extort  the  truth. 


THE  LOST  PROPERTY  ROOM  AT  POLICE  HEADQUARTERS. 

The  skilled  detective  is  skeptical  in  regard  to  the  reforma- 
tion of  criminals,  and  the  reports  of  the  office  show  that  the 
number  of  reformations  is  not  more  than  four  in  one  hundred. 
They  are  also  dubious  in  believing  that  Avant  drives  great 
criminals  into  their  careers ;  it  may  make  petty  thieves,  but 
never  great  ones.  They  attribute  half  the  criminality  in  the 
land  to  laziness,  and  the  other  half  to  immoral  reading  and  the 
temptations  and  instruction  of  successful  criminals. 

In  the  lost  property  room  in  the  cellar  of  the  police  Head- 
quarters building  are  thousands  of  articles  found  on  the  streets 


THE   MUSEUM   OF  CRIME.  525 

by  policemen.  Here  is  a  miscellaneous  collection  of  odds  and 
ends,  including  bundles  and  packages  of  all  sizes  and  kinds. 
men's    and  women's    clothing,  silverware,  revolvers,    pistols, 

knives,  umbrellas,  musical  instruments,  baskets,  hat-boxes, 
trunks,  and  so  forth.  All  property  found  by  the  police  is  kept 
for  one  year,  and  if  not  claimed  by  the  owners  within  that 
time  it  is  sold  at  auction. 

In  the  Museum  of  Crime  on  the  first  floor  of  the  Headquar- 
ters building  may  be  found  photographs  of  notorious  shop- 
lifters, pickpockets,  burglars,  murderers,  and  eminent  "crooks." 
Here  are  sledge-hammers  whose  heads  are  filled  with  lead, 
drags,  drills,  jimmies,  blow-pipes,  jackscrews.  sandbags,  dark- 
lanterns,  musks,  powder-flasks,  etc.  An  interesting  exhibit  is 
all  the  paraphernalia  and  implements  used  in  the  famous  Man- 
hattan Bank  robbery,  when  the  adroit  rascals  made  away 
with  nearly  three  million  dollars  in  bonds  and  securities.  Here 
are  samples  of  the  mechanical  skill  of  makers  of  burglars' 
tools,  showing  workmanship  of  the  highest  order.  Here  also 
is  the  celebrated  bogus  gold  brick,  and  the  lock  curiosities  of 
a  man  whose  ear  was  so  delicately  trained  that  he  was  enabled 
to  open  combination  locks  of  safes  through  studying  their 
emitted  sounds.  There  are  no  end  of  dirks,  knives,  and  pistols, 
and  a  good  assortment  of  black  caps  and  ropes  of  murderers 
that  make  one  shudder  to  look  upon.  Here  may  also  be  found 
all  the  paraphernalia  used  for  smoking  in  opium-joints. 

During  the  past  few  years  crime  lias  perceptibly  decreased 
among  professional  thieves.  But  notwithstanding  this  there  is 
no  cessation  of  police  warfare  on  the  criminal  classes.  In  1S90 
the  total  number  of  arrests  for  all  causes  was  84,556,  of  which 
number  nearly  20,000  were  women.  The  old  thieves  have  been 
driven  from  pillar  to  post  and  have  almost  disappeared.  Most 
of  the  crimes  of  to-dav  are  committed  bv  the  rising  genera- 
tion  of  young  criminals,  who  are  the  most  reckless  of  their 
class  because  the  most  inexperienced. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

FIRE!    FIRE!  — THE    LIFE    OF    A    NEW    YORK    FIREMAN  — THE 
SCHOOL  OF  INSTRUCTION   AND  THE   LIFE-SAVING  CORPS. 

The  Volunteer  Fire  Department  of  ye  Olden  Time  —  How  Barnum's  Show 
Was  Interrupted  —  A  Comical  Incident  —  Indians  and  Red-Coats  at  a  Fire 
—  The  Bowery  B'hoys  —  Soap-Locks  —  The  School  of  Instruction  and  the 
Life-Saving  Corps  —  Daily  Drill  in  the  Use  of  Life-Saving  Appliances  — 
Wonderful  Feats  on  the  Scaling-Ladder  —  The  Jumping-Net  —  Thrilling 
Scenes  and  Incidents  —  The  Life-Line  Gun  —  Fire-Department  Horses  — 
Their  Training  —  A  Hospital  for  Sick  and  Injured  Horses  —  A  Night  Visit 
to  an  Engine-House  —  Keeping  up  Steam  —  Automatic  Apparatus  —  How 
Firemen  Sleep  —  Sliding  Down  the  Pole  —  The  Alarm  —  ltre  !  Fire  !  — 
A  Quick  Turn-Out  —  Intelligent  Horses  —  The  Fire- Alarm  System  — 
Answering  an  Alarm  in  Seven  Seconds  —  A  Thrilling  Sight  —  Fire-Boats 
and  their  Work  —  Signal-Boxes  and  How  they  are  Used  —  The  Perils  of 
a  Fireman's  Life. 

IT  is  nearly  a  century  since  the  authorities  of  New  York  or- 
ganized a  department  whose  special  duty  it  was  to  ex- 
tinguish fires.  Before  that  time  the  fire  service,  such  as  it  was, 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  police,  who  had  a  distinct  branch  for 
the  "  viewing  and  searching  of  chimneys  "  and  also  for  the  use 
of  hooks,  ladders,  and  buckets.  Every  house  having  two  chim- 
neys was  compelled  to  have  one  bucket  at  the  expense  of  the 
owner,  and  every  house  with  more  than  two  chimneys  was  re- 
quired to  have  two  buckets,  while  all  brewers  and  bakers  were 
to  have  six  buckets  each,  under  penalty  of  a  fine  of  six  shillings 
for  every  bucket  wanting. 

From  this  crude  beginning  grew  the  old  fire  department  of 
New  York,  which  was  a  most  excellent  institution  for  the 
greater  part  of  its  existence.  In  its  early  days  all  the  best 
young  men  of  the  city  belonged  to  it,  and  the  engines  were 
kept  in  or  near  the  City  Hall,  which  was  a  very  convenient  lo- 
cation.    That  the  rules  were  more  rigid  than  in  later  times 

(526) 


FIREMEN   IN   FEATHERS   AND   WAR   PAINT.  527 

is  shown  by  the  circumstance  that  on  the  1st  of  December, 
1829,  a  member  of  the  fire  department  was  reported  for  chew- 
ing tobacco  in  the  engine-house,  and  two  days  later  another 
member  was  reported  for  smoking  a  pipe.  Spirituous  liquors 
were  excluded  from  the  engine-houses,  but  allowed  at  fires. 

In  those  days  the  city  furnished  the  engines  and  kept  them 
in  order,  and  it  also  paid  the  rent  of  the  engine-houses  and  cer- 
tain other  expenses  connected  with  the  service.  But  the  work 
of  the  men  was  voluntary,  and  hence  the  organization  was 
known  as  the  Volunteer  Fire  Department  of  Xew  York ;  it 
continued  in  existence  until  abolished  by  law  to  make  way  for 
the  Paid  Fire  Department,  about  twenty-five  years  ago.  The 
volunteer  fire  department  had  become  in  great  measure  a 
political  machine ;  bad  men  had  found  their  way  into  it,  and  re- 
spectable men  had  gradually  withdrawn,  though  many  of  them 
still  clung  to  it  out  of  the  affection  born  of  long  years  of  faithful 
service.  I  am  acquainted  with  many  members  of  the  old  fire 
department  and  appreciate  the  earnestness  with  which  they 
talk  of  the  days  long  gone  by  and  deprecate  the  evils  they  were 
powerless  to  control  and  which  gradually  brought  the  old 
organization  to  grief. 

The  volunteer  firemen  were  recruited  from  all  kinds  of 
trades  and  occupations.  It  was  an  invariable  rule  with  them 
to  answer  every  fire  alarm  at  whatever  hour  it  was  sounded,  no 
matter  what  they  were  doing  at  the  time. 

"  One  time,"  said  an  old  fire-laddie,  "  Barnum,  the  show- 
man, was  giving  a  play  called  '  Moll  Pitcher,  or  the  Battle  of 
Monmouth,'  at  his  old  museum  at  the  corner  of  Broadway  and 
Ann  Street.  There  were  Eed-coats  and  Continentals  in  uni- 
form, and  no  end  of  Indians  with  feathers  and  war  paint  and 
tomahawks  in  the  battle  scene,  and  a  lot  of  us  that  ran  with  an 
engine  a  little  way  down  Ann  Street  had  hired  out  for  'supes' 
to  make  up  the  '  armies '  that  went  on  the  stage. 

"Well,  one  day,  just  as  Ave  were  all  dressed  in  our  stage  cos- 
tumes and  it  was  almost  time  for  us  to  march  on  the  stage  for 
the  great  battle,  the  fire-bell  rang  out  a  signal  for  a  fire  in  our 
district.     We  didn't  stop  for  anything,  but  went  yelling  down 


528  FASCINATION  OF  A  FIREMAN'S  LIFE. 

the  stairs  and  out  into  the  street  just  as  Ave  were  —  the  most 
motley  crowd  of  firemen  that  ever  turned  out  at  a  fire.  We 
met  the  engine  coming  up  Ann  Street,  grabbed  the  rope,  and 
went  on  to  the  fire  with  the  rest  of  the  boys.  How  the  small 
boys  did  scamper  out  of  the  way,  and  how  folks  did  stare  at  us, 
especially  at  the  Indians  in  war  paint  and  feathers,  and  the 
Red-coats  in  their  gay  uniforms ;  but  we  kept  at  our  work  and 
put  out  the  fire  and  then  went  back  to  the  Museum,  though  by 
that  time  the  play  was  over.  Barnum  was  awful  mad  at  first, 
as  his  battle  scene  was  all  broken  up,  but  next  morning  the 
story  was  in  the  papers  and  he  got  such  a  good  advertise- 
ment out  of  the  affair  for  nothing,  that  he  was  all  serene  again 
by  the  time  of  the  afternoon  performance." 

The  old  firemen  were  extremely  fond  of  their  life.  They 
received  no  compensation  ivhatever  beyond  exemption  from 
militia  and  jury  duty,  and  they  often  paid  out  of  their  own 
pockets  for  decorating  their  engines  and  also  for  painting  and 
repairing  them,  and  these  items  were  frequently  very  heavy. 
One  company  had  its  engine  silver-plated  at  a  cost  of  two  thou- 
sand dollars,  and  other  companies  soon  followed  its  example. 
Pictures  of  various  kinds,  generally  fire  scenes  or  allegorical 
subjects,  were  painted  on  the  panels  of  the  engines  or  wherever 
there  was  sufficient  surface  on  which  to  make  a  picture,  and 
some  of  these  paintings  were  really  valuable  works  of  art.  The 
colors  of  the  engines  were  usually  gaudy,  red  having  prefer- 
ence ;  and  there  is  a  story  extant  about  a  fireman  who  declared 
that  he  didn't  care  what  color  the  committee  painted  the  engine 
as  long  as  they  "  painted  her  red."  The  firemen  always  spoke 
of  the  engine  as  feminine,  and  "she"  was  beloved  almost  as 
much  as  were  their  sweethearts  and  wives. 

The  principal  element  that  tended  to  the  demoralization 
and  ruin  of  the  old  volunteer  fire  department  was  the  Bowery 
"rough  "  or  "  tough,"  also  known  as  the  "  Bowery  b'hoy."  He 
was  a  curious  product  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived,  and  he 
disappeared  when  the  old  fire  department  went  out  of  exist- 
ence. He  invariably  had  his  trousers  tucked  into  his  boots.  He 
wore  a  red  shirt,  no  vest  or  waistcoat,  and  carried  his  coat  on 


THE    "BOWERY    n'llny."  529 

his  arm,  rarely  on  his  back,  and  then  only  when  forced  by  the 
weather.  His  "stove-pipe"  hat  was  cocked  over  our  ear  as  far 
as  it  could  possibly  go  and  remain  on  his  head,  and  lie  gener- 
ally held  in  his  mouth  a  cigar  at  an  angle  of  about  forty  de- 
grees toward  the  sky.  His  hair  was  liberally  oiled  and  brought 
well  in  front  of  his  ears ;  his  peculiar  style  of  hair-dressing  gave 
him  the  name  of  "soap-locks,"  though  it  would  have  been  inju- 
dicious to  apply  this  term  to  him  in  his  hearing. 

He  had  no  occupation  and  no  visible  means  of  support  ex- 
cept to  "  run  wid  der  masheen,"  though  he  sometimes  consented 
to  work  in  a  ship-yard,  boiler-factory,  or  other  establishment 
along  the  East  Kiver  or  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Bowery.  He  had 
a  way  of  walking  into  a  restaurant,  bar-room,  cigar-shop,  or 
other  establishment  that  dealt  in  supplies  which  he  desired,  and 
after  receiving  what  he  wanted  he  would  deliberately  walk  out 
without  paying.  If  the  proprietor  ventured  to  hint  that  he  de- 
sired pay  for  his  goods,  the  b'hov  dropped  his  coat,  struck  a 
pugilistic  attitude,  and  with  a  drawl  and  intonation  impossible 
to  render  in  print  announced  in  no  choice  language  that  the 
man  would  be  paid  by  a  thrashing.  The  threat  usually  brought 
silence,  but  if  it  did  not,  the  b'hov  was  as  good  as  his  word ; 
about  the  only  thing  he  was  ever  good  for  was  to  redeem  a 
promise  to  thrash  whoever  demanded  from  him  his  just  dues. 
He  would  have  his  boots  polished  by  a  bootblack,  and  when  the 
job  was  finished,  the  boy's  box  would  be  kicked  half  way  across 
the  street,  and  while  the  urchin  ran  to  pick  it  up,  the  scoundrel 
would  walk  leisurely  away  without  deigning  to  pay  the  boot- 
black's fee. 

What  wonder  is  it  that  with  such  men  in  the  fire  depart- 
ment there  was  a  great  deal  of  rioting  and  thieving  at  fires? 
Stores  in  the  neighborhood  were  stripped  of  their  contents  if 
they  were  such  as  the  thieves  could  use,  and  the  special  delight 
of  the  Bowery  b'hoy  was  a  fire  in  or  near  a  clothing-store. 
Thereby  hangs  a  bit  of  history  : 

While  a  bill  for  the  abolition  of  the  volunteer  fire  depart- 
ment was  before  the  State  Assembly,  with  some  doubt  about 
its  passage,  a  fire  broke  out  in  a  large  clothing-store.     During 

32 


530 


FIREMEN  S   SCHOOL   OF  INSTRUCTION. 


the  conflagration  several  firemen  were  killed  by  falling  walls ; 
when  their  corpses  were  taken  from  the  ruins  some  of  them 
were  found  to  have  on  overcoats  from  which  the  dealer's  tick- 
ets inside  the  collars  had  not  been  removed. 
This  circumstance  at  once  secured  the  passage 
of  the  bill  through  the  Legislature,  as  it  sus- 
tained one  of  the  charges  that  had  been  made 
against  the  old  organization. 

The  fireman  of  to-day  is  no  longer  a  volun- 
teer; he  is  paid  just  like  a  policeman  or  any 
other  official,  and  if  disabled  he  is  retired  on  a 
pension  which  is  guaranteed  to  him  for  the  rest 
of  his  life,  varying  from  one-third  to  one-half  of 
his  pay. 

The    present     headquarters    building    cost 
$100,000,   is   six   stories   high,  and  has   in   its 
rear   an  enclosed   yard  fifty  by  one   hundred 
feet,  which  is  used  as  a  practicing  ground  in 
connection  with  the  School  of  Instruction  and 
Life-saving  Corps  for  the  training  of  officers 
and  men.     Altogether  there  are   nearly  four- 
teen hundred  men  and  four  hund- 
red horses  employed  in  the  entire 
Department,  and  the  total  expen- 
ses  are   nearly  two  and    a  half 
million  dollars  annually. 

The    valuable    experience    ac- 
quired  by  the   men   in   the   drill 
yard  of  the  School  of  Instruction 
cannot   be   overestimated.      Here 
members  of   the   force   are   thor- 
oughly instructed  in  the  handling 
and  use  of  life-saving  appliances, 
implements,    etc.       The    practice 
ground   connected   with  the   School,  where  daily  drills   take 
place,  enables  the  entire  force  to  obtain  a  familiarity  and 
knowledge  of  recent  improvements  in  apparatus,  implements, 


A  SCALING   LADDER. 


A    THIMLUNC    KCKNE. 


531 


tools.  Ladders,  and  life-saving  appliances,  which  are  contin- 
ually being  added  to  the  equipment  of  the  Department.  The 
erection  within  the  past  few  years  of  very 
hiffh  buildings  lias  necessitated  the  intro- 
duction  of  special  life-saving  appliances. 
chief  among  which  is  the  scaling-ladder. 
This  ladder  is  a  long  pole,  with  short  rungs 
projecting  on  both  sides,  and  terminating 
at  the  upper  end  in  a  steel  hook.  Any 
height  can  be  reached  by  a  skilled  fireman 
with  a  scaling  ladder,  provided  there  are 
windows  or  other  openings  into  which  its 
hook  can  be  inserted  ;  whereas  the  longest 
practicable  extension-ladder  so  far  con- 
structed falls  short  of  ninety  feet.  About 
fifteen  per  cent,  of  the  buildings  in  New 
York  are  so  high  that  their  upper  win- 
dows cannot  be  reached  by  the  longest 
extension-ladder  now  in  use.  The  value 
of  the  scaling-ladder  was  well  illustrated 
|  by  an  incident  that  happened  at  a  recent 
fire  in  an  apartment-house.  The  elevator- 
boy  was  dis- 
covered at 
one  of  the 
seventh -sto- 
ry windows 
calling  loud- 
ly for  help, 
the  fire  hav- 
ing extend- 
ed so  rapidly 
as    to    make 

it  impossible  for  him  to  come  down  the  stairways.  The  com- 
mander of  a  hook-and-ladder  company  ordered  his  men  to  rescue 
the  imperilled  boy,  and  three  of  the  men  at  once  proceeded  to 
do  so.     While  they  were  ascending  from   story  to   story  by 


:   .:  ^M 


BCALING    LADDER    J)KII,1.. 


532     •  A  GALLANT  RESCUE. 

means  of  scaling-ladders,  the  long  extension-ladder  of  the  com- 
pany was  raised  to  its  full  height,  but  it  only  reached  to  the 
sill  of  the  sixth-story  windows.  In  the  mean  time  one  of  the 
firemen  had  reached  the  fifth-story  by  means  of  the  scaling- 
ladder,  and  from  thence  he  stepped  to  the  extension-ladder, 
carrying  his  scaling-ladder  with  him,  which  he  then  hooked 
into  a  window  of  the  seventh-story,  and,  ascending,  found  the 
boy  in  an  exhausted  and  excited  condition.  He  reassured  and 
quieted  him,  and  although  the  task  of  passing  him  down  to  his 
comrades  below  was  one  requiring  great  strength,  it  was  safely 
accomplished  and  the  boy  at  last  reached  the  ground. 

Indispensable  parts  of  the  equipment  of  every  "  life-saver  " 
are  the  broad  waist-belt  with  snap-hook  attached,  by  means  of 
which,  standing  up-  "^^>^^> 

on  the  rungs  of  the      m^^^^s^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^L,  ^^^ 

securely  fasten  him-      I    ('"  ' '7S|^«^|g^:  |8 

self  to  it  and  freely  li ■1™5"111 '""^^^^^^^^^ 

use    both     hands,  —  ^§5^1^''        |! 

and  the  life-line  with      FIREMAN>S  LIFE.SAvmG  HOOK  AND  Ik 

which  he  can  safely  BELT>  jp%lr 

lower     persons     (or  m    l\ 

himself)  from  any  elevation  to  the  ground.     Nearly      li     ij 
all  the  members  of  the  fire-extinguishing  force  are       ^^ 
now  skilled  in  the  use  of  these  appliances,  the  only 
exceptions  being  those  who  were  too  old  for  that  class  of  ser- 
vice at  the  time  of  its  introduction. 

The  jumping-net  and  the  life-line  gun  — both  of  which  are 
for  use  only  as  a  last  resort  —  are  often  the  means  of  saving 
life.  The  net  is  circular  in  form,  made  of  rope,  and  is  intended 
to  be  held  by  firemen  to  catch  persons  jumping  from  buildings. 
Quite  recently  during  a  fire  in  a  five-story  building  the  lives  of 
two  brothers  and  a  sister  were  saved  by  its  use.  A  fireman 
took  a  scaling-ladder,  with  which  he  was  enabled  to  reach  the 
fourth  floor,  and  then,  placing  it  in  a  window  of  the  fifth  floor, 
he  succeeded  in  getting  the  brothers  down  to  the  fourth  floor. 
At  this  time  flames  burst  out  from  all  the  windows  of  the  third 


UMPING   FOR   LIFE. 


533 


floor  and  prevented  further  descent  by  the  ladder.  In  the 
mean  time  the  hook-ancUladder  company  had  arrived,  but  as  it 
was  impossible  to  make  use  of  its  extension-ladder  in  time,  the 
life-saving  net  was  resorted  to,  being  held  by  the  few  available 


-  I 


THE   JIMPINO    OR    LTFE-SAVLNG   SET. 


firemen  aided  by  a  number  of  citizens.  After  the  sister,  who 
had  been  compelled  to  remain  on  the  fifth  floor,  and  her 
brothers  on  the  fourth  floor,  had,  under  the  fireman's  direction. 
successfully  jumped  and  been  safely  caught  in  the  net,  the  tire- 
man  also  jumped,  and.  although  caught  in  the  net,  he  unfor- 
tunately bounded  out  of  it  and  fell  upon  the  pavement,  sus- 
taining severe  injuries.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  lives 
of  all  four  would  have  been  lost  but  for  the  prompt  use  of  the 
life-saving  net. 

The  life-line  gun  or  carbine  throws  a  projectile  to  which  a 
cord  is  attached,  with  which  the  endangered  person  can  haul 
up  the  stout  life-line  tied  to  it. 

The  general  effect  upon  the  firemen  of  a  system  of  train- 
ing at  the  School  of  Instruction  has  unquestionably  been  to  bet- 
ter fit  them  for  the  performance  of  their  ordinary  duties  and 
to  qualify  them  to  meet  almost  any  emergency.  One  of  the 
prerequisites  to  admission  in  the  force  is  a  probationary  service 
of  one  month,  largely  devoted  to  drill  in  the  school  of-  the 


534 


THE   LIFE-LINE   AND   THE   DUMMY. 


THE    LIFE-LINE    GUN. 


Life-saving  Corps.     A  few  of  the  recruits  take  to  it  quickly 

and  naturally  ;   the  majority,  however, 
acquire    proficiency    gradually,    while 
only  a  very  small  proportion  are  found 
disqualified.      By  degrees  the   recruits 
are  made  to  scale  story  after  story,  to 
use  the  life-line,  to  man  the  jumping- 
net  while  a  dummy  is  thrown  from  a 
fifth   or    sixth-story    window,   to   take 
the  part  of  the  rescued  and  of  the  res- 
cuer, until  the  end  of  the  probationary 
period  finds  him  either  a  qualified  life- 
saver  or  he  is  dropped  from  the  rolls. 
If  the  first,  he  is  thereupon  permanently 
appointed,  provided  the  service  he  -has 
also  been  required  to  perform  in  a  com- 
pany has  been  found  acceptable. 
The  horses  used  in  the  department  are  large,  handsome  crea- 
tures, selected  with  great  care,  and  their  training  is  as  care- 
fully looked  after  as  that  of  the  men  who 
have  them  in  charge.     The  Hospital  and 
Training  School  is  in  an  appropriate  build- 
ing erected  for  the  purpose,  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  city.     Here  is  a  large  room  on 
the  ground   floor,  fitted  up   like  the  ap- 
paratus-floor  of    an    engine-house,    with 
engine,  stalls,  hanging  harness,  telegraph 
signal-gong,  sliding  poles,  etc.,  and  new 
horses  are  thoroughly  educated  in  their 
duties  before  they  are  distributed  to  the 
engine-houses.     These  horses  are  all  fresh 
from  the  country,  from  four  and  a  half  to 
six  years  old,  and  of  course  entirely  untu- 
tored.    The  first  step  in  the  instruction, 
and  generally  the  most  difficult  one,  is  to 
accustom  the  horse  to  getting  under  and  into  the  harness  and 
hinged  collar.     To  accomplish  this  it  is  often  necessary  to  have 


THE   DUMMY. 


HOW    THE   HORSES   ARE   TRAINED. 


535 


one  of  the  men  precede  the  animal  and  place  his  own  head  in 
the  collar.    When  the  horse's  natural  dread  lias  been  allayed  in 

this  manner,  he  is  next  harnessed  and 
hitched  up  at  the  sound  of  the  signal 
on  the  gong.  This  he  must  learn  to 
do  quickly  and  without  the  least  hes- 
itation, and  to  teach  it  properly  re- 
quires great  tact  and  experience  on 
the  part  of  the  trainers.  At  the  first 
stroke  of  the  gong  the  horse  is  led 
and  guided  to  his  place  under  the 
harness  by  one  man,  and  driven  from 
behind  by  another,  whose  voice,  and 
hand,  if  necessary,  both  urge  him 
forward;  the  collar  is  pulled  down 
and  snapped  around  his  neck,  the 
harness  is  let  down  upon  him,  the 
reins  are  snapped,  and  the  wide  street 
doors  slide  open.  This  is  repeated 
as  often  as  may  be  found  necessary, 
great  care  being  taken  to  handle 
the  animal  as  gently  as  practicable, 
and  to  avoid  making  him  timid  or 
injuring  him  in  any  way.  The  final 
instruction  consists  in  driving  the 
horse  out  of  the 
stable  as  if  re- 
sponding to  an  ac- 
tual alarm.  Occa- 
sionally a  horse  is 
found  deficient  in 
intelligence  or  too 
nervous,  but  more 
frequently  they 
develop  physical  faults.  In  either  case  the  horse  is  at  once  re- 
turned to  the  dealer,  who  supplied  it  on  trial.  There  is,  how- 
ever, another  test  to  which  a  horse  who  proves  satisfactory  at 


LIFK-*AYING    NET    DRILL. 


536 


CARE   OF   SICK  AND   DISABLED   HORSES. 


the  training-stable  is  subjected  before  his  final  acceptance  into 
the  service.  This  is  the  test  of  actual  service  in  the  company 
for  which  he  was  selected,  and,  failing  in  this,  he  is  also  rejected. 

The  average  length  of  service  for  horses 
in  the  Department  is  about  six  years. 
As  it  is  of  the  first  importance  that  the 
horses  are  always  in  prime  condition, 
they  are  sold  as  soon  as  it  becomes  evi- 
dent that  their  usefulness  in  the  service 
is  waning. 

Accommodations  are  provided  in 
this  building  for  both  the  sick  and  in- 
jured horses.  Commodious  stalls  of 
both  the  ordinary  and  box  pattern, 
properly  lighted  and  well  ventilated, 
together  with  the  best  modern  appli- 
ances and  medical  supplies  to  ensure  the 
best  treatment,  are  furnished. 

At  each  engine-house  there  is  a  com- 
fortable sitting-room 
for  the  men,  usually 
adjoining  the  dormi- 
tory, and  frequently 
the  furniture  includes 
a  billiard-table,  chess- 
boards, dominoes,  and 
other  materials  for 
amusement;  some  of 
the  houses  have  good- 
sized  libraries  which 
have  been  presented 
by  friends.  Political 
and  religious  discus- 
sions are  forbidden, 
and  profane  language 
is  not  allowed  under  any  circumstances.  Disputes  among  the 
men  are  rare ;  when  they  approach  the  nature  of  a  quarrel  they 


LIFE-LINE    DRILL 


THE   LIFE   OF    A    FIREMAN. 


5:*7 


ore  referred  to  the  foreman;  and  if  lie  is  unable  to  arbitrate 

successfully,  the  dispute  is  referred  to  a  higher  official,  i  drunk- 
enness is  forbidden,  the  first  offense  being  punished  with  a  rep- 
rimand and  fine,  while  a  second  one  is  pretty  sure  to  secure 
the  discharge  of  the  offender. 

The  life  of  a  fireman  is  not  an  ideal  one,  especially  for  a 
married  man.      He  must  be  on  duty  night  and  day.  excepting 


IN    THE    HOSPITAL   FOR   SICK   AND   DISABLED    HORSES. 


necessary  time  for  his  meals.  He  is  allowed  one  day  in  every 
ten  for  a  holiday,  and  he  has  a  short  annual  vacation.  The 
family  of  a  fireman  has  very  little  opportunity  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  him ;  but  his  wife  can  console  herself  with  the 
reflection  that  she  knows  where  her  husband  is  when  he  is  not 
in  her  sight. 

The  engine-room,  on  the  ground  floor,  is  always  the  nearest 
room  to  the  street.  On  either  side  of  the  engine  are  stalls  for 
the  horses  that  draw  the  engine  and  hose-cart;  two  for  the 
former  and  generally  two  for  the  latter. 

Let  us  drop  around  to-night  and  make  a  visit  to  one  of  the 


538  A  NIGHT  VISIT  TO  AN  ENGINE-HOUSE. 

engine-houses.  As  we  enter  the  building  the  first  object  to 
catch  our  eyes  is  the  engine,  a  shining  mass  of  steel,  iron,  and 
nickel  plating,  the  perfection  of  mechanical  skill  and  ingenuity, 
and  requiring  the  utmost  care  and  labor  to  keep  it  in  such 
superb  condition.  When  it  comes  back  from  a  fire,  smoke  and 
dirt-begrimed  and  covered  with  mud,  it  is  immediately  put  in 
perfect  order  again,  no  matter  at  what  hour  of  the  day  or 
night  it  returns  or  how  tired  the  men  may  be.  Who  knows 
how  soon  it  may  have  to  go  out  again  ? 

The  furnace  of  the  engine  is  filled  with  fuel  ready  for  light- 
ing, and  a  kerosene  torch  is  at  hand  for  flashing  it  into  a  blaze 
in  a  moment.  We  hear  the  water  gently  bubbling  within  the 
boiler,  and  a  glance  at  the  steam  gauge  shows  that  a  low  head 
of  steam  is  on,  although  there  is  no  fire  in  the  engine's  furnace 
nor  any  visible  means  for  heating  the  water.  Closer  investiga- 
tion reveals  a  pipe  coming  up  through  the  floor.  It  is  so  hot 
you  cannot  bear  your  hand  on  it.  It  brings  steam  from  a  boiler 
in  the  basement  and  keeps  the  water  in  the  engine  boiling  hot 
and  steam  up  at  a  low  pressure.  The  "couplings  connecting 
this  pipe  with  the  engine  are  so  arranged  that  they  detach  au- 
tomatically when  the  engine  is  drawn  away  from  them,  and  as 
the  pipes  are  separated  each  of  them  closes  securely  by  a  very 
simple  contrivance.  The  engine  makes  steam  very  rapidly,  and 
in  five  minutes  or  less  from  the  time  the  fire  is  lighted  the 
pressure  is  sufficient  for  throwing  a  powerful  stream  of  water. 

Everything  is  automatic  that  can  be  made  so.  The  halters 
of  the  horses  are  so  arranged  that  they  become  free  by  means 
of  an  electrical  apparatus;  the  harness  is  suspended  directly 
over  each  horse's  place  in  front  of  the  engine  and  is  automatic- 
ally dropped  on  their  backs ;  each  horse  knows  his  place 
perfectly  well  at  the  engine  and  rushes  to  it  the  moment 
an  alarm  is  given,  before  a  hand  can  be  laid  upon  him,  and  the 
same  is  the  case  with  the  horses  that  draw  the  hose-cart. 

The  hats  and  coats  of  the  men  are  on  the  seats  they  occupy 
when  the  engine  starts  on  its  run ;  the  men  often  don  their 
coats  and  hats  while  riding  at  full  speed  through  the  streets,  or 
as  they  spring  into  their  places  just  as  the  engine  starts. 


WHERE   THE   MEN   SLEEP. 


539 


The  firemen  sleep  on  the  floor  above  the  engine-room.   It  is 

long  past  midnight.  Silently  we  enter  the  dormitory  and  look 
around.  The  beds  are  occupied  by  the  men,  and  no  sound  but 
their  heavy  breathing,  telling  of  deep  slumber,  falls  upon  the 
ear.  Occasionally  the  sound  of  footsteps  of  some  belated 
pedestrian  on  the  pavement  below,  or  the  distant  rumble  of  an 


mm 


iilifSlSl 


WAITING   FOR   TIIE   SIGNAL. 


elevated  train,  floats  through  the  half-open  window  and  breaks 
the  stillness  of  the  night.  Near  each  bed  is  a  pair  of  trousers 
with  the  ends  of  the  legs  carefully  tucked  into  a  pair  of  boots, 
and  evidently  very  precisely  arranged,  and  each  pair  of 
trousers  and  boots  is  placed  relatively  in  exactly  the  same  spot 
at  the  foot  of  each  bed.  This  careful  arrangement  saves  to  the 
fireman  a  small  fraction  of  a  second  of  time,  in  traveling  from 
the  head  to  the  foot  of  the  bed.  which  he  must  pass  on  his 
way  to  the  hole  in  the  floor  where  he  slides  down  a  polished 
brass  pole  to  the  engine-room  below.  The  hole  is  closed  by 
trap-doors  opening  from  the  ceiling  downward,  which  fly  open 
automatically  the  instant  an  alarm  is  given. 


540 


AN  EXCITING  SCENE. 


THE    JUMPING    HOLE. 


Stairs  are  altogether  too  slow  when  it  is  a  matter  of  getting 
to  a  fire  in  the  shortest  possible  time.  The  fireman  jumps  at 
the  hole  in  the  floor,  throws  his  arms  and  legs  around  the  pole, 

and  slides  with  lightning 
rapidity  to  the  floor  below  in 
a  tenth  of  the  time  it  would 
take  him  to  descend  the 
stairs.  He  uses  the  stairs  on 
ordinary  occasions,  but  never 
when  responding  to  an  alarm. 
A  glance  around  the 
room  in  the  dim  light  of  the 
single  gas-jet  shows  that  all 
is  scrupulously  neat  and  in 
perfect  order ;  pictures  of  fire 
scenes  adorn  the  walls,  and 
trophies  of  days  gone  by  are  placed  in  conspicuous  places. 

Suddenly,  without  an  instant's  warning,  and  with  startling 
distinctness,  the  gong  rings  out  an  alarm  of  fire  with  quick  and 
imperative  strokes.  The  bed-clothes  fly  off  as  though  lifted 
automatically  by  hidden  apparatus,  and  the  men  spring  from 
their  beds  and  into  their  boots  and  trousers.  About  two  pulls 
at  the  garments  and  the  thing  is  done  ;  they  fit  closely  around 
the  waist,  and  there  is  no  need  of  suspenders. 

Springing  to  the  hole  in  the  floor,  they  slide  down  the  pole 
one  after  the  other,  swift  as  a  flash,  sometimes  two  men  clasp- 
ing it  and  sliding  down  together.  We  won't  venture  to 
follow  that  way,  so  we  hurriedly  take  to  the  stairs  and  jump 
down  two  or  three  steps  at  a  time.  Fast  as  we  go,  the  men  are 
there  ahead  of  us,  the  horses  have  rushed  out  from  their  stalls, 
the  harness  has  dropped  on  their  backs  from  its  fastenings 
above,  the  last  snap  that  completes  the  hitching  up  has  been 
made,  and  the  animals  stand  in  their  places  trembling  with  ex- 
citement, but  perfectly  obedient  and  waiting  the  word  of 
command.  The  driver  is  in  his  seat,  engineer  and  stoker  and 
every  other  man  is  in  his  place,  and  silence  reigns  for  an 
instant,  but  the  doors  are  not  opened.     Why  is  this  % 


THE   DREADED    "THREE    SIXES. 


541 


The  several  strokes  that  we  heard  on  the  gong  were  to  hitch 
up,  but  another  signal  number  indicating  whether  the  company 
is  to  respond  or  not  has  not  been  given.  If  the  signal  is  given. 
the  doors  open  and  the  engine  and  hose-cart  gallop  out  at  light- 
ning speed  to  the  point  indicated  by  it.     Whenever  a  notice  is 


rvws 

I  /  /  !  \  V 


given  that  a  fire  has  broken  out,  the  alarm  is  sounded  from  the 
Headquarters  building  to  every  engine-house  in  the  city,  and 
every  company  is  ready  for  work  in  a  few  seconds;  but  unless 
the  alarm  code  require  it,  they  do  not  go  out.  If  a  fire  is  trifling, 
one  engine  may  be  sufficient  to  extinguish  it ;  if  the  companies 
first  summoned  are  not  enough,  others  are  summoned,  and  the 
signals  may  be  increased  until  they  reach  "three  sixes,"  which 
calls,  according  to  its  character,  from  five  to  sixteen  companies 
to  the  scene  of  the  conflagration.  Only  a  fire  that  has  attained 
alarming  proportions  will  justify  sending  out  this  call,  as  it 
leaves  a  considerable  portion  of  the  city  without  protection. 

While  we  are  lost  in  wonder  and  admiration  at  the  sudden 
transformation  that  has  just  taken  place  before  our  eyes,  an- 
other signal  is  given  on  the  gong,  and  the  big  street  doors, 


542 


QUICK   RESPONSE   TO   AN   ALARM. 


almost  as  wide  as  the  building,  swing  swiftly  apart.  The  horses 
dash  out  at  full  gallop,  and  the  engine  sways  to  and  fro  and 
rocks  from  side  to  side  like  a  baby  carriage  rather  than  like  a 
mass  of  metal  weighing  approximately  four  tons.  Cobble- 
stones, Belgian  pavement,  asphalt,  — all  is  the  same  to  the 
steeds  (literally  "fiery" 
ones),  and  the  engine 
goes  at  almost  railway 
speed,  its  track  marked 


nil,  -i 


OFF    TO    A   FIRE. 


by  a  line  of  glowing  cinders  from  its  furnace.  Smoke  and 
sparks  pour  from  the  chimney,  the  steam  hisses  at  the  safety 
valve,  and  everything  is  in  readiness  for  Avork  before  the  scene 
of  the  fire  is  reached.  The  hose  is  rapidly  reeled  off  from  the 
hose-cart  that  follows  close  behind,  and  is  coupled  to  a  hydrant, 
the  engine  begins  its  quick  throbbing,  and  immediately  a  well- 
directed  stream  of  water  is  pouring  on  the  fire. 

From  the  time  the  first  alarm  sounded,  when  every  man 
was  asleep  in  bed,  until  the  engine  was  ready  with  men  and 
horses  in  place,  just  twenty-four  seconds  have  passed.  Four 
seconds  later  the  second  alarm  came,  the  doors  swung  open, 
and  the  engine  dashed  into  the  street.  It  took  four  minutes 
and  nine  seconds  more  to  get  to  the  fire,  which  was  a  consider- 
able distance  from  the  engine-house,  run  a  line  of  hose  and  at- 
tach it  to  the  hydrant,  and  start  the  stream  on  the  fire. 


MARVELOUS   EFFICIENCY.  543 

Instances  are  on  record  of  an  engine  getting  a  stream  of 
water  on  a  fire  four  blocks  from  the  engine-house  in  less  than 
two  minutes  after  the  alarm  was  given.  A  day  hitch  has  been 
made  and  the  engine  started  on  its  run  to  a  fire  in  seven 

seconds  after  the  alarm  was  given.  A  foreman  would  feel 
himself  disgraced  if  his  engine  was  more  than  half  a  minute 
in  getting  outside  the  doors  of  the  engine-house  at  any  hour  of 
the  day  or  night,  with  all  hands  sound  asleep  in  their  beds  when 
the  gong  called  them  to  duty. 

In  addition  to  the  steam  fire-engine  companies  there  are 
separate   organizations  known  as  hook-and-ladder  companies, 


A    LADDER   TRUCK. 

water-towers,  etc.,  all  of  them  acting  in  conjunction  with  the 
rest  of  the  force.  Some  of  these  ladder-truck's  are  about  fifty 
feet  long  and  very  narrow,  carrying  an  assortment  of  a  dozen 
or  fifteen  ladders  varying  from  thirty  to  ninety  feet  in  length. 
They  are  used  in  saving  life  and  for  carrying  hose  to  upper 
stories  of  burning  buildings.  Each  truck  is  amply  provided 
with  scaling-ladders,  life-lines,  jumping-nets,  ropes,  etc..  and 
plenty  of  hooks,  axes,  and  rams  for  tearing  down  walls  and 
partitions,  and  to  meet  almost  any  contingency  that  may  arise. 
It  is  a  thrilling  sight  to  watch  one  of  these  hook-and-ladder 
companies  on  its  way  to  a  fire.  The  horses,  three  abreast,  are 
driven  at  full  speed,  and  the  huge  truck  with  its  crew  of  men 
on  top  of  the  pile  of  ladders  seems  certain  to  topple  over,  es- 
pecially as  it  rounds  a  corner  without  for  a  moment  slackening 


544  SWIFT  AND   POWERFUL  FIRE   BOATS. 

its  speed.  But  it  is  skillfully  guided  by  a  helmsman  at  the 
rear,  who  by  means  of  a  brake  and  steering-apparatus  keeps 
perfect  control  of  the  truck. 

The  water  front  and  shipping  are  protected  by  swift  fire- 
boats  stationed  in  the  East  and  North  Rivers,  manned  by 
highly  trained  crews  who  live  on  board.  Their  furnace  fires 
are  always  banked,  and  sufficient  steam  is  kept  up  to  enable 
them  to  respond  instantly  to  a  call.  Their  engines  and  pump- 
ing machinery  are  of  the  most  powerful  kind,  enabling  them 
to  throw  twelve  ordinary  streams  of  water  at  once.  A  new 
fire-boat  recently  launched  is  about  125  feet  long,  built  of  steel 
throughout,  with  bulkheads  and  frames  so  arranged  as  to  give 
the  hull  great  stiffness,  to  enable  it  to  withstand  the  vibrations 
caused  by  its  powerful  machinery.  The  pilot-house  is  pro- 
tected by  iron  shutters  with  peep-holes  in  them,  and  movable 
screens  made  of  two  sheets  of  metal,  with  *  an  air  space  be- 
tween, are  arranged  to  travel  along  the  rail  of  the  vessel,  thus 
affording  adequate  protection  to  the  pilot  and  firemen  from 
the  heat  of  a  great  conflagration,  and  enabling  them  to  fight 
fire  at  very  close  quarters.  The  vessel  is  steered  by  steam, 
and  the  rudder  can  be  thrown  hard  over  in  eight  seconds, 
thus  enabling  the  pilot  to  thread  his  way  through  the  most 
crooked  channels  and  dodge  lubberly  pilots  of  other  vessels 
and  the  numerous  craft  that  constantly  ply  the  harbor.  Her 
pumping  capacity  is  enormous.  A  stream  five  inches  in  diame- 
ter can  be  thrown  from  one  nozzle,  besides  streams  four  inches 
in  diameter  from  three  others  at  the  same  time.  If  the  power 
of  all  the  pumps  is  concentrated  on  the  five-inch  nozzle  alone,  a 
stream  of  solid  water  five  inches  in  diameter  can  be  thrown  to 
a  distance  of  five  hundred  feet  on  a  level. 

The  efficiency  of  the  fire  department  depends  quite  as  much 
upon  the  effectiveness  of  the  electric  service  by  which  the  men 
and  engines  are  called  as  upon  the  alacrity  with  which  they  re- 
spond. The  central  office  of  the  fire-alarm  telegraph  is  on  the 
sixth  floor  of  the  Headquarters  building,  and  the  electric 
signal  wires,  making  a  total  circuit  of  nearly  twelve  hundred 
miles,  run  to  and  from  it  in  every  direction  and  from  all  over 


STREET   FIRE   SIGNAL   BOXES. 


545 


the  city.  At  many  of  the  street  corners  arc  electric  fire-alarm 
boxes,  painted  red,  on  red  Lamp-posts  surmounted  with  a  red 
lantern  that  is  lighted  at  night.  There  are  nearly  twelve 
hundred  of  these  electric  fire-alarm  boxes  distributed  through- 
out the  city ;  most  of  them  are  accessible  to  the  public  at  any 
hour  of  the  day  or  night,  while  others  are  special  boxes  in  hos- 
pitals, theatres,  manufactories,  etc.  Anybody  can  ring  a  lire 
signal  and  summon  the  engines. 

It  was  believed  at  first  that  this  system  would  be  very 
unsafe  and  cause  no  end  of  trouble  by  inciting  mischievous  men 
and  boys  to  sound  false  alarms.  To  overcome  this  the  inventor 
of  the  system  arranged  the  box  so  that  in  order  to  open  the  door 
a  handle  must  be  turned  several  times;  the  instant  the  hand  is 
moved  a  gong  begins  ringing  at  the  box,  and  keeps  ringing  very 
loudly  for  twenty  seconds.  Then  the 
door  opens  and  reveals  a  hook  which 
must  be  pulled  down  to  give  the 
alarm. 

Now,  no  matter  how  much  a  man 
or  boy  may  be  bent  upon  mischief,  he 
is  not  willing  to  stand  for  twenty 
seconds  in  front  of  a  box  while  the 
loud  gong  is  ringing  and  a  light  reveals 
his  features  to  every  one  whose  atten- 
tion would  certainly  be  attracted  by 
the  noise.  The  scheme  works  perfectly. 
Nobody  tampers  with  the  fire  alarm, 
nor  is  likely  to  wdien  he  remembers 
that  he  is  liable  to  spend  several  months 
in  prison  in  return  for  his  fun.  The 
signal  box  is  placed  so  high  on  the 
post  that  the  ordinary  small  boy  can- 
not reach  it  to  turn  the  handle. 

The  instant  the  hook  is  pulled,  the  number  of  the  alarm  box 
is  announced  at  the  central  office  at  headquarters,  where  sev- 
eral operators   are  on  duty  night  and  day,   and  is  by  them 


L.urr  post  srimorNTTN*;  a 
EIRE   SIGNAL    BOX. 


88 


546 


HOW  THE  ENGINES  ARE  ANNOUNCED. 


transmitted  to  the  various  engine-houses.  Everything  is  done 
in  the  operating-room  in  a  quiet  way  without  the  least  con- 
fusion, and  before  the  person  who  sent  the  alarm  has  closed 
the  door  of  the  signal  box  his  call  has  been  received  at  head- 
quarters and  from  thence 
transmitted  to  every  en- 
gine-house in  the  city. 

The  fireman's  life  is  at- 
tended by  constant  peril. 
Most  of  the  fires  that  oc- 
cur are  taken  in  hand  so 
promptly  that  they  do  not 
get  much  headway,  but  oc- 
casionally there  is  a  confla- 
gration which  causes  wide- 
spread destruction  and 
more  or  less  danger  to  the 
firemen  engaged  in  subdu- 
ing it.  There  is  danger 
from  falling  walls  and 
roofs,  danger  of  suffocation 
by  smoke  and  by  fumes 
from  chemicals,  danger 
of  being  surrounded  by 
flames  so  that  escape  is 
impossible,  danger  of  fall- 
ing into  scuttle -holes  on 
floors  and  in  roofs,  and 
other  dangers  which  can 
not  be  enumerated  at  the  moment.  The  men  perform  then- 
work  cheerfully,  and  pay  so  little  heed  to  their  surroundings  that 
it  is  a  wonder  that  so  few  of  them  suffer  injury  or  death. 

The  greatest  zeal  of  the  fireman  is  shoAvn  in  his  efforts  to 
save  life,  and  the  records  of  the  department  are  full  of  thrill- 
ing incidents.  On  one  occasion  a  woman  was  seen  hanging 
out  of  a  third-story  window.  A  fireman  climbed  up  a  post  to 
the  top  of  the  awning,  and,  standing  on  the  sash  of  a  second- 


FIRE   SIGNAL   BOX   ON  A  STREET   LAMP  POST. 


THRILLING    DEEDS  OF  HEROISM  547 

story  window,  held  on  to  the  window-blinds.  At  his  direction 
the  woman  dropped  into  his  arms  and  was  taken  in  safety  to 
the  street. 

During  a  fire  in  a  tenement-house  on  Baxter  Street  a  mother 
and  her  three  children  were  rescued  from  the  burning  build- 
ing by  the  intrepidity  of  a  fireman,  who  climbed  up  a  post 
to  the  top  of  a  wooden  roof  built  over  the  sidewalk,  entered 
the  second  story  therefrom,  and  groped  his  way,  guided  by 
faint  cries,  through  the  dense  smoke.  He  found  the  frightened 
woman  and  two  of  her  children  crouched  in  a  corner  of  a  back 
room  and  carried  them  one  by  one  over  the  blazing  roof  to  the 
ladder  which  had  in  the  meantime  been  raised.  The  youngest 
child  still  remained  in  the  building.  The  brave  fireman,  unde- 
terred by  lire  and  smoke,  again  entered  it,  and.  finding  the  lit- 
tle one  carried  it  safely  to  the  street. 

The  experienced  fireman  bravely  and  without  the  slightest 
hesitation  penetrates  burning  buildings,  where  tongues  of  flame 
hiss  around  him,  where  fragments  of  falling  timber  are  drop- 
ping about  him  and  threatening  death  in  a  dreadful  form,  and 
where  at  any  moment  the  whole  structure  may  go  down  in  a 
crash,  from  which  he  cannot  escape  by  any  human  aid.  On  the 
records  of  the  Department  are  many  stories  of  the  heroism  of 
firemen  under  such  circumstances;  some  of  them  record  the 
death  of  firemen  who  bravely  sought  to  save  the  lives  of  others 
and  so  lost  their  own. 

A  record  is  kept  at  Headquarters  of  all  deeds  of  heroism 
performed  by  the  men,  and  they  would  fill  a  volume.  In  1869 
James  Gordon  Bennett,  the  founder  of  the  Xew  York  Herald, 
sent  a  check  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars  for  a  medal  of  honor  to 
be  awarded  to  the  most  meritorious  member  of  the  department 
every  year.  The  commissioners  spent  five  hundred  dollars  for 
a  design  and  die  for  the  medal,  and  the  remainder  was  put  at 
interest,  yielding  a  sufficient  amount  annually  to  pay  for  the 
medal.  At  the  end  of  each  year  the  commissioners  select  the 
recipient  of  the  medal  from  the  roll  of  merit,  and  the  presenta- 
tion is  made  a  public  ceremony  at  which  the  mayor  and  other 
officials  are  present.     It  is  needless  to  say  that  every  fireman  in 


548  REWARDS   OF  MERIT. 

the  service  of  the  city  hopes  to  win  the  medal  before  his  term 
of  service  is  ended,  and  whoever  obtains  it  regards  it  with  as 
much  pride  as  the  soldier  of  the  British  army  regards  the  Vic- 
toria Cross  that  he  has  won  by  personal  bravery  on  the  battle- 
field. 

In  1867  John  Stephenson  presented  the  department  with 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  to  be  used  "in  the  discretion  of 
the  Board  for  the  benefit  of  the  department."  By  careful  in- 
vestment this  sum  has  been  steadily  increased  until  now  it 
amounts  to  $600.  For  the  purpose  of  inciting  the  company 
commanders  to  the  attainment  of  the  highest  standard  of  dis- 
cipline and  efficiency,  the  commissioners  determined  to  annu- 
ally present  to  the  captain  who  shall  be  judged  the  most  de- 
serving, a  handsome  gold  medal  to  be  known  as  the  Stephen- 
son Medal.  The  presentation  is  also  public,  and  is  made  imme- 
diately after  the  presentation  of  the  Bennett  Medal. 


CHAPTEE  XXVIII. 

THE  CHINESE  QUARTER  OF  NEW  YORK— BEHIND  THE  SCENES 
IN    CHINATOWN— "JOHN"    AND    Ills    CURIOUS    WAYS— A 

NIGHT  VISIT  TO  AN  OPIUM  JOINT. 

The  Chinese  Junk  "  Key-Ying  "  —  The  Heart  of  the  Chinese  Community  in 
New  York  —  A  Race  of  Gamblers  —  A  Trip  through  Chinatown  with 
a  Detective  — A  Raid  on  a  Gambling-House  —  Spotting  the  Players  — The 
Opium  Habit  — A  Chinese  Drugstore  —  Marvelous  Remedies  —  A  Won- 
derful Bill  of  Fare  —  A  Visit  to  a  Joss-House  —  An  Opium  Smoker's 
"  Lay-Out  "  —  The  Value  of  an  Opium  Pipe  —A  Night  Visit  to  an  Opium- 
Joint  —  Carefully-Guarded  Doors  — How  Admission  is  Gained  —  The 
Peep-Hole  —  Cunning  Celestials  —  Scenes  in  the  Smoking-Poom — Victims 
of  the  Opium  Habit  —  First  Experiences  at  Hitting  the  Pipe  —  A  Terrible 
Longing  — A  Woman's  Experience — White  Opium  Fiends  —  Sickening 
Scenes — Aristocratic  Smokers  —  Cost  of  Opium  —  Spread  of  the  Opium 
Habit  —  Solitary  Indulgence  in  the  Vice  —  Swift  and  Certain  Death  the 
Result. 

ABOUT  half  a  century  ago  a  curious  craft  arrived  one  day 
at  New  York,  having  sailed  all  the  way  from  China,  It 
was  the  Chinese  junk  "  Key-Ying,"  and  she  had  been  a  long 
time  on  the  way,  having  visited  London  en  route. 

The  "Key-Ying"  was  a  speculation  on  the  part  of  some 
foreigners  in  Far  Cathay.  They  had  decided  that  there  was 
money  in  building  a  junk  and  sending  her  to  distant  parts  of 
the  world  as  a  show ;  she  was  fitted  up  as  a  Chinese  museum, 
and  had  stalls  all  around  her  decks,  where  Chinese  artisans 
were  working  at  their  various  trades.  She  was  a  profitable  en- 
terprise, as  crowds  came  daily  to  see  her,  and  the  money  made 
from  the  exhibition  was  the  foundation  of  a  commercial  house 
that  still  exists  at  Hong  Kong,  with  branches  in  several  ports 
of  the  far  East. 

But  one  unhappy  day  she  took  fire  in  the  harbor  of  Xew 
York  and  was  burned  to  the  water's  edge.  As  a  show  she  was 
no  longer  of  any  use,  neither  could  she  serve  as  a  place  of  resi- 

(549) 


550  HOW  THE  CHINESE  LIVE  IN  NEW  YORK. 

denee  for  the  men  who  formerly  inhabited  her.  Some  of  them 
found  their  way  back  to  China,  but  the  majority  remained 
in  New  York  and  formed  the  nucleus  of  the  present  Chinese 
colony  in  Mott  Street. 

The  Chinese  residents  of  New  York  are  chiefly  engaged  in 
the  laundry  business.  There  are  about  seven  hundred  laundries 
in  the  city,  and  as  each  one  employs  from  two  to  half  a  dozen 
people  the  number  of  Chinese  residents  is  by  no  means  small. 
The  location  of  the  laundries  is  determined  by  a  committee 
of  Chinese,  which  takes  care  that  these  establishments  are  not 
near  enough  to  each  other  to  make  competition  between  them. 
They  are  intended  to  compete  with  laundries  run  by  people  of 
other  nationalities,  but  not  with  those  of  their  own. 

The  centre  of  the  Chinese  community  is  on  Mott  Street, 
and  so  dense  is  the  Mongolian  population  there  that  this  street 
and  its  immediate  vicinity  have  received  the  appellation  of 
Chinatown.  Between  Chatham  and  Pell  streets  Mott  is  en- 
tirely given  up  to  the  Chinese,  or  so  nearly  so  that  the  excep- 
tions are  not  worth  mentioning. 

According  to  an  old  captain  of  the  Sixth  Police  Precinct 
(which  includes  Chinatown),  whose  views  from  a  police  point 
are  interesting,  there  are  many  popular  errors  about  John 
Chinaman  and  his  ways. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  the  captain,  when  we  had  settled 
down  to  the  subject  of  our  conversation,  "  John  is  more  cleanly 
in  his  ways  than  is  generally  supposed,  at  least  in  this  country, 
whatever  he  may  be  in  his  native  land.  It  is  true  that  the 
Chinese  in  New  York  herd  very  closely  together,  and  live  in 
quarters  that  would  be  repugnant  to  an  American ;  it  is  no 
unusual  thing  to  find  half  a  dozen  of  them  living  in  a  room 
that  would  be  insufficient  for  more  than  two  laboring  Ameri- 
cans ;  and  they  are  not  over  particular  on  the  subject  of  venti- 
lation. But  they  wash  themselves  oftener  than  do  the  Italians, 
and  they  shave  their  heads  and  braid  their  queues  with  a  care 
that  everybody  must  commend." 

"  They  live  much  better  than  the  Italians  do,  too,"  the  cap- 
tain went  on.     "  An  Italian  comes  here  and  earns  one  dollar 


JOHN    AND    HIS    CURIOUS    WAYS.  551 

and  a  quarter  a  day.     Ee  saves  a  dollar  to  take  or  send  home 

to  Italy,  and  lives  on  the  remaining  twenty-live  cents,  which 
he  spends  for  stale  beer,  macaroni,  and  rice.  And  the  Italians 
in  Mulberry  Street  crowd  together  quite  as  closely  as  ever  the 

Chinese  do,  and  sometimes  even  more  so.  On  the  other  hand 
John  Chinaman  lives  well  ;  he  eats  j>  rk,  chicken,  and  vegeta- 
bles, and  very  often  he  has  delicacies  in  the  shape  of  eggs  fifty 
years  old  that  have  been  imported  from  China  at  considerable 
expense,  together  with  sharks'  fins,  dried  sea-slugs,  and  the 
like.  The  rich  Chinamen  live  luxuriously,  or  at  all  events  in 
a  style  that  would  astonish  a  good  many  Americans,  who  think 
Mott  Street  is  the  resort  of  only  the  vilest  and  poorest  of  the 
Celestials. 

"  John  minds  his  own  business,'1  continued  the  captain,  '-and 
gives  us  very  little  trouble.  We  make  fewer  arrests  among 
the  Chinese  than  among  any  other  foreign  nationality  in  pro- 
portion to  their  numbers.  They  settle  most  of  their  disputes 
among  themselves :  quarrels  are  referred  to  the  President  of 
their  Society,  who  may  be  called  the  mayor  of  Chinatown, 
and  he  stands  high  among  them.  His  name  is  Tom  Lee,  and 
he  is  a  prosperous  merchant,  who  lias  made  the  most  of  his 
money  since  lie  came  to  New  York. 

"  Perhaps  John  would  be  in  no  wise  different  from  the  rest 
of  mankind  if  he  took  advantage  of  his  neighbor  in  a  trade 
when  the  opportunity  offered  itself.  As  to  stealing,  he  might 
do  his  share  of  it  ;  but  he  is  by  no  means  the  only  man  in  the 
world  who  will  take  what  isn't  his  own.  But  I  have  observed 
that  they  are  honest  among  themselves,  and  so  far  as  I  know 
they  rarely  steal  from  each  other.  For  example,  a  Chinaman 
will  live  in  a  hall  bedroom  in  a  house  where  there  are  dozens 
of  other  Chinese.  He  will  go  to  his  work  and  be  gone  all  day, 
leaving  his  room  unlocked,  so  that  a  thief  might  come  in  and 
help  himself  if  he  wanted  to.  Of  course  a  white  man  couldn't 
enter  the  building  without  being  seen  and  observed,  but  a 
Chinaman  could  go  there  with  very  little  chance  of  detection. 
They  seem  to  respect  each  other's  property ;  sometimes  there 
may  be  quite  a  lot  of  silk  and  other  garments  wmich  cost  con- 


552  A  RACE   OF  GAMBLERS. 

siderable  money,  and  also  rings  and  bracelets,  such  as  they 
wear,  lying  about  their  rooms  ;  but  it  is  rare  indeed  that  you 
hear  of  a  robbery  among  them.  Under  similar  circumstances 
a  white  man  in  a  white  men's  lodging-house  would  expect  his 
goods  to  be  missing  in  short  order  if  he  left  them  exposed  in 
this  way. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  because  a  white  man  would  steal  under  such 
circumstances  that  John  does  not,"  the  captain  added,  with  a 
smile  upon  his  face.  "  You  see  John  does  nearly  everything 
just  the  reverse  of  ourselves,  and  perhaps  his  morals  are  re- 
versed too.  You  know  we  write  across  the  page,  and  he  writes 
down ;  we  join  our  letters  together  to  make  words,  and  he 
keeps  them  separate,  or  he  makes  a  single  character  stand  for 
a  word.  The  first  page  of  our  book  is  the  last  of  his,  and  the 
first  of  his  is  the  last  of  ours.  "We  stand  up  to  plane  a  board 
and  he  sits  down  to  do  the  same  thing.  We  eat  with  knives 
and  forks,  and  he  eats  with  chop-sticks ;  we  say  our  prayers  (or 
at  any  rate  we  ought  to),  and  he  bums  his ;  we  put  on  black 
when  in  mourning,  and  he  puts  on  white;  we  cut  our  hair 
short,  and  he  wears  his  in  a  long  pigtail ;  we  drink  ice-water, 
and  he  abhors  it  as  he  would  abhor  deadly  poison.  And  just 
out  of  a  spirit  of  doing  things  the  other  way  it  may  be  that 
John  refrains  from  stealing  under  the  circumstances  I  have 
mentioned. 

"  Americans  and  Europeans  can  hardly  be  called  a  race  of 
gamblers,"  said  the  captain  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  but  you 
may  set  down  the  Chinese  as  a  gambling  people.  John  has  a 
contrariness  in  his  character  that  is  something  of  a  puzzle ;  he 
is  acquisitive  and  economical,  industrious  and  temperate  from 
our  point  of  view,  and  at  the  same  time  he  is  a  born  gambler 
and  a  confirmed  opium-smoker.  Nearly  every  Chinaman  in 
Mott  Street  —  and  in  the  whole  of  New  York  for  that  matter 
—  is  fond  of  fan-tan  and  other  gambling  games,  and  nearly 
every  Chinaman  smokes  opium.  The  whole  race  seems  to  be 
devoted  to  gambling,  and  the  most  of  the  work  of  the  police 
with  them  is  to  break  up  their  gambling-houses  and  their  opium- 
dens.     It's  very  difficult  to  break  up  their  gambling-places, 


CONVENIENT   [GNORANCE. 


553 


though,  for  the  reason  thai  they  will  rarely  betray  their  com- 
rades, and  they  never  allow  a  white  man  to  play  at  their  games. 
Once  in  a  great  while  we  can  induce  a  Chinaman  to  turn  evi- 


A  NOTED  CORNER  RESORT  FOR  CHINESE  GAMBLERS. 

dence  against  his  countrymen,  but  such  cases  are  very  rare.  A 
peculiarity  of  John  is  the  fact  that  lie  will  not  as  a  general 
thing  admit  that  he  knows  anything  about  another  man's  busi- 
ness; he  may  tell  you  about  his  own,  but  never  about  that  of 
his  neighbor.  When  you  ask  one  about  the  other  he  shakes 
his  head  and  doesn't  know  anything  more  than  his  name, 
and  not  always  that. 


554  SCENES  IN  MOTT  STREET. 

"We  get  evidence  against  them  sometimes  through  the 
converted  Chinese  who  come  here  to  do  missionary  work  and 
manage  to  get  into  the  gambling-rooms.  And  by  the  way," 
he  added  with  emphasis,  "I  don't  think  much  of  these  con- 
verted Chinese,  taken  as  a  class  together.  They  impose  upon 
the  people  who  employ  them  and  send  them  here  to  convert 
their  countrymen ;  they  are  Christians  just  because  it  pays  for 
them  to  join  the  church  and  pretend  to  have  renounced  pagan- 
ism. There  may  be  honest  men  among  them,  but  they  are  not 
in  the  majority.  Some  of  these  fellows,  while  professing  to  be 
Christians,  have  josses  of  their  own  and  frequently  take  a  hand 
at  fan-tan." 

"Here,  sergeant,"  said  the  captain,  as  one  of  the  precinct 
detectives  passed  the  door,  "I" want  }^ou  to  show  this  gentle- 
man through  Mott  Street  and  Chinatown." 

The  sergeant  came  in,  and  I  was  introduced  to  a  man  of 
medium  height,  blonde  as  to  complexion,  and  with  blue  eyes 
that  seemed  able  to  pierce  an  uncut  millstone  if  such  piercing 
were  possible  to  the  human  organ  of  sight.  He  knew  every 
inch  of  Chinatown  and  probably  every  one  of  its  inhabitants, 
as  he  was  greeted  familiarly  wherever  we  went,  and  led  me  a. 
foot-wearying  promenade  in  and  out  of  many  buildings  and  up 
and  down  numerous  stairways  in  Chinatown. 

Mott  Street  is  narrow  and  dirty,  but  that  is  nothing  unusual 
in  New  York ;  in  fact  there  are  a  good  many  streets  in  the  me- 
tropolis much  dirtier  than  this.  Two  or  three  Chinese  children 
were  playing  in  the  street,  but  did  not  venture  far  from  their 
doors.  The  American  or  Irish  small  boy  is  apt  to  make  it  un- 
comfortable for  the  juvenile  Mongolian  whenever  opportunity 
offers.  One  of  his  favorite  amusements  is  to  gather  up  a  hand- 
ful of  mud  and  throw  it  in  the  face  of  the  unsuspecting  Celes- 
tial. A  dozen  boys  will  act  simultaneously  in  attacking  half 
their  number  of  young  Chinese,  and  they  will  be  aided  and 
abetted  by  white  men  who  stand  on  the  street  corners  and 
laugh  at  the  outrage  as  something  very  funny.  In  consequence 
of  this  tendency  the  few  children  of  the  Chinese  residents  do 
not  often  venture  out  of  doors. 


the  roLirrc  skkckants  stokv. 


555 


Along  the  sidewalks  there  was  a  fair  number  of  ( !hinese,  but 

on  the  whole  the  scene  was  quiet.  'Hie  besl  day  to  see  these 
people  is  on  Sunday,  when  the  laundries  arc  closed  and  those 
who  are  engaged  in  them  come  to  Mott  Street  to  enjoy  them- 
selves. Then  the  street  is  crowded,  and  sometimes  it  is  not 
easy  to  make  one's  way  through  the  dense  throng. 

The  sergeant  told  me  of  a  capture  of  Chinese  gamblers  that 
he  recently  accomplished  after   considerable  hard   work.     lie 


ENTRANCE   TO   A   CIHNESE    GAMBLING-HOUSE    OVER   AN    OI'IUM-DEN. 

was  convinced  that  the  Celestials  were  running  a  fan-tan  game 
in  some  rear  rooms  overlooked  by  another  building,  but  how 
to  get  into  that  building  and  be  able  to  identify  the  players 
was  a  conundrum.  By  the  aid  of  a  man  who  was  not  known  to 
have  any  connection  with  the  police  he  hired  a  room  whose 
windows  looked  directly  upon  the  fan-tan  players,  and  man- 
aged to  get  in  there  without  being  identified.  Then  with  a 
fellow  detective  and  a  pair  of  field-glasses  he  '"spotted"  his 
men,  and  when  he  was  sure  of  their  features  he  arranged  to 
have  the  place  "pulled"  by  night.     When  the  police  arrived  on 


556  THE   GAME  OF  FAN-TAN. 

the  scene  the  alert  Chinese  lookout  on  the  street  gave  the  sig- 
nal, and  instantly  the  lights  went  out  and  the  paraphernalia  of 
fan-tan  was  concealed.  Some  of  the  players  fled  and  those  who 
remained  were  quietly  smoking  their  pipes  when  the  officers 
reached  the  gambling-room.  But  the  sergeant  had  taken  the 
measure  of  the  gamblers  and  knew  their  faces  thoroughly,  so 
that  there  was  no  escape.  They  were  tried,  convicted,  and 
sent  to  BlackwelPs  Island. 

Fan-tan  is  the  special  gambling-game  on  which  the  police 
wage  relentless  warfare.  It  is  played  nightly  by  private  par- 
ties, and  the  utmost  pains  are  taken  to  elude  the  vigilance  of 
the  minions  of  the  law,  A  dozen  or  more  players  group  them- 
selves around  a  table  in  the  center  of  which  is  a  pewter  slab. 
This  slab  is  crossed  with  diagonal  lines  dividing  it  into  sec- 
tions numbered  respectively,  one,  two,  three,  and  four.  The 
players  are  at  liberty  to  bet  on  any  number  they  choose  or  on 
more  than  one  number.  The  dealer,  or  keeper  of  the  game, 
sits  at  one  side  of  the  table,  and  a  little  in  front  of  him 
is  a  pile  of  a  quart  or  more  of  Chinese  cash, —  small  copper  or 
brass  coins  with  square  holes  in  the  center.  While  the  bets 
are  being  made  he  takes  a  handful  of  cash  from  the  pile,  places 
it  on  a  clear  space  on  the  table,  and  covers  it  with  an  inverted 
bowl. 

To  prevent  fraud  he  has  short  sleeves  that  just  project  from 
his  shoulders  and  no  farther,  and  he  is  provided  with  a  rod  of 
brass  or  ivory  as  large  around  as  a  lead-pencil  and  twice  its 
length,  and  sharpened  at  one  end  to  a  fine  point. 

When  the  stakes  are  all  made  he  raises  the  bowl  from  the 
small  pile  of  coins  and  with  the  pointed  end  of  his  wand  picks 
out  the  cash  in  fours ;  the  remainder  after  all  possible  fours 
but  one  are  removed  is  the  winning  number.  Before  the  pile 
is  half  removed  the  skilled  players  can  tell  almost  to  a  cer- 
tainty what  will  be  the  winning  number,  and  it  is  interesting 
to  watch  their  faces  and  observe  the  expressions  of  hope, 
greedy  expectation,  or  sullen  disappointment.  A  regularly 
constructed  fan-tan  room  has  a  hole  in  the  low  ceiling  above 
the  table ;  this  hole  is  the  size  of  the  table,  or  a  little  larger, 


A   WEALTHY   BEAN   SHELLER. 


:,:,; 


and  is  surrounded  by  a  railing.     Anotherand  more  aristocratic 

group  of  players  looks  eagerly  over  the  railing,  and  their  bets 
are  Lowered  and  winnings  raised  by  means  of  a  small  basket 

attached  to  a  cord. 

^Ye  first  visited  Wo  Kee,  one  of  the  richest  merchants  of 
Chinatown.  He  is  perhaps  worth  a  hundred  thousand  dollars 
and  is  a  man  of  reputation  and  dignity.  We  found  him  seated 
with  one  of  his  employees  at  the  side  of  a  tub  where  the  twain 
were  en<ra<:ed  in  shelling  beans :  whether  they  were  intended 

DO  O 

for  his  consumption  or  for  customers   I  did  not  ask.  but  as 


\    CHINESE    VENDEE    OF 
SHELLED    BEANS. 


beans  are  not  suppos- 
ed to  be  fattening, 
and  Wo  Kee  is  decid- 
edly a  fat  man,  it  is  probable  that  they  were  for  commercial 
rather  than  personal  use.  Our  conversation  was  brief,  though 
he  spoke  very  good  English,  Wo  Kee  adhering  to  his  tub  with 
the  assiduity  of  a  Socrates,  and  not  once  suspending  the  work 
of  bean-shelling.  He  is  a  general  merchant  in  Chinese  goods, 
and  his  shop  contains  everything  from  a  firecracker  to  a  dried 
duck  or  an  embroidered  jacket. 

The  Chinese  in  Xew  York  follow  the  custom  of  their  native 
land  in  settling  accounts  at  the  end  of  the  year,  paying  when 
they  can,  and  being  forgiven  all  debts  that  they  are  unable  to 
pay.  The  11th  of  February  is  the  Chinese  Xew  Year,  and  on 
that  day  there  is  a  grand  festivity  in  which  everybody  feasts 
and  offers  prayers  in  the  joss-house  or  temple.     It  is  a  sort 


558  WHITE   WIVES   OF   CHINESE. 

of  Fourth  of  July,  New  Year's  Day,  and  Thanksgiving  Day 
combined,  and  it  is  an  important  day  indeed  for  everybody 
concerned.  Delinquents  who  cannot  pay  their  debts  are 
crossed  off  the  books,  and  it  is  proper  to  add  that  they  are 
never  trusted  again. 

There  is  not  now  a  single  opium  joint  in  Mott  Street  or  its 
vicinity.  But  every  Chinaman,  almost  without  exception, 
smokes  the  drug  and  has  his  own  private  "  lay-out "  for  that 
purpose.  This  cannot  be  called  a  "  joint,"  which  is  a  place  kept 
by  a  man  who  admits  patrons  to  smoke  at  a  fixed  price  per 
head.  The .  joints  that  formerly  existed  in  Mott  Street  were 
patronized  largely  by  Chinese,  but  not  wholly  so ;  white  men 
and  Avomen,  particularly  the  latter,  used  to  go  there,  and 
the  places  were  the  scenes  of  all  sorts  of  iniquity.  Such  resorts 
still  exist  up-town,  where  opium  and  a  pipe  can  be  obtained  by 
the  initiated. 

There  are  only  two  or  three  Chinese  women  living  in  Mott 
street,  and  probably  not  more  than  six  in  the  whole  city.  They 
are  the  wives  of  prominent  Chinese ;  Wo  Kee  has  his  wife  and 
family  living  here,  and  the  other  Chinese  women  are  of  equally 
reputable  standing.  The  class  of  Chinese  women  that  have 
given  the  police  of  San  Francisco  a  great  deal  of  trouble  is  un- 
known in  New  York,  their  places  being  taken  by  white  women. 
These  last  are  not  easy  to  discover  in  evil  Avays,  for  the  reason 
that  they  haATe  no  relations  with  Avhite  men,  but  associate 
exclusively  with  the  Mongolians.  When  arrested  and  brought 
into  the  police  courts  they  claim  to  be  the  Avives  of  Chinese, 
and  either  produce  marriage  certificates  or  bring  their  alleged 
husbands  to  SAvear  to  the  matrimonial  relation.  John  is  fond 
of  pretty  faces,  although  he  is  not  usually  remarkable  for  his 
OAvn  beauty,  and  not  a  few  Avhite  girls  find  a  ready  market  for 
their  charms  in  Mott  and  Pell  Streets. 

Chinamen  were  coming  and  going  along  the  sidewalk  and  in 
and  out  of  the  houses,  alleys,  and  cellars  as  I  accompanied  the 
detective,  for  Avhom  many  of  them  had  a  friendly  nod  and  a 
word  of  Avelcome.  I  wondered  Avhether  the  nods  and  Avords  Avere 
inspired  by  fear  or  esteem,  but  did  not  propound  the  question  to 


STRANG K    MEDICINES. 


559 


the  sergeant.  John  is  shrewd  enough  to  know  that  it  is  to  his 
advantage  to  keep  on  the  right  side  of  detectives,  who  can 
be  very  troublesome  when  they  choose  to  be,  in  case  the  ways 
of  John  should  happen  to  be  such  as  would  not  well  bear 
the  light. 

A  Chinese  drug-store  was  next  visited,  where  the  medica- 
ments were  such  ;is  are  generally  unknown  to  the  American 


WAITING   FOR   TRADE.      CHINESE   CURBSTONE   MERCHANTS   UN    MOTT    STREET. 


pharmacopoeia.  A  deer's  horn  taken  "in  the  velvet."  or  rather 
a  section  weighing  perhaps  two  pounds,  hung  above  the 
counter.  I  asked  the  price  and  was  told  "  ten  dollar."  Deer's 
horn  in  this  condition,  when  the  new  horn  is  just  forming,  is  a 
sovereign  remedy  for  many  ills  and  is  prescribed  with  the 
greatest  solemnity.  It  is  grated  line  and  given  as  a  dry 
powder,  or  it  may  be  mixed  with  other  medicines  in  order  that 
the  combined  effect  may  be  to  "  tangle  "  the  disease  if  not  to 
cure  it.    At  the  sergeant's  suggestion  the  almond-eyed  druggist 


560  SCENES  IN  A  CHINESE  RESTAURANT. 

showed  me  a  handful  of  dried  locusts  which  he  took  from 
a  drawer.  These  locusts  are  caught  in  China,  where  they  are 
carefully  dried  ;  when  wanted  for  use  they  are  stewed  until  re- 
duced to  a  thin  soup,  and  in  this  form  are  taken  by  the 
man  who  wants  to  get  well. 

The  Chinese  are  great  believers  in  charms  and  incantations, 
and  the  soothsayer's  art  is  closely  allied  to  that  of  the  doctor, 
in  fact  the  two  are  often  exercised  by  one  and  the  same  indi- 
vidual. 

From  the  drug-store  we  went  to  see  the  big  joss  or  idol  in 
the  temple  which  is  on  the  third  floor  of  a  house  on  Mott 
Street,  the-  second  floor  being  occupied  as  a  restaurant. 

The  restaurant  occupies  the  whole  of  the  front  part  of  the 
floor,  the  rear  being  used  as  a  kitchen.  There  were  twelve  or 
fifteen  tables  in  the  room;  they  were  round  and  about  four 
feet  in  diameter,  and  at  one  of  them  was  a  group  of  five  men 
busily  engaged  in  satisfying  their  appetites  in  true  Chinese 
style.  One  was  holding  a  bowl  of  rice  close  against  his  chin, 
and  by  means  of  a  pair  of  chopsticks  the  food  was  forced 
rapidly  into  his  mouth.  Another  was  lifting  pieces  of  stewed 
pork  from  a  steaming  bowl,  and  two  of  the  diners  were  regaling 
themselves  on  what  appeared  to  be  boiled  cabbage  cut  very  fine, 
though  it  may  have  been  something  else.  Most  of  the  men 
at  table  were  squatting  with  their  heels  on  low  stools  and  the 
others  were  sitting  in  occidental  fashion. 

The  detective  fell  into  conversation  with  a  man  in  American 
dress  who  was  alone  at  one  of  the  tables.  He  was  one  of  the 
three  interpreters  who  serve  their  countrymen  in  the  courts 
and  elsewhere  where  interpretation  is  necessary. 

The  room  was  hung  with  strips  of  red  paper  on  which  the 
bill  of  fare  was  printed  in  Chinese  characters,  together  with 
the  prices.  As  in  other  restaurants  the  world  over  there  were 
certain  standard  dishes,  such  as  rice,  stewed  pork,  beans,  and 
the  like,  and  then  there  were  dishes  which  are  only  served  on 
stated  occasions.  The  general  appearance  of  the  place  was  not 
attractive,  the  floor  being  covered  with  sawdust,  and  the  pat- 
rons anything  but  neat  in  their  dress.     In  addition  to  the  bills 


QUEER   DISHES   AND   CUSTOMS. 


561 


of  fare  there  were  blessings  and  invitations  on  the  strips  of  paper. 
There  were  also  some  banners  which  had  been  presented  to  the 
proprietor  by  his  friends,  and  were  evidently  regarded  by  him 
with  affection  and  esteem. 

Fong,  a  pig-tailed  attendant,  then  led  the  way  to  the  kitchen, 
where  three  or  four  cooks  were  hard  at  work;  and  every  few 
moments  an  order  was  shouted  from  the  restaurant  just  as  it  is 
shouted    in    a 

: — i ; — -\ 

I 


do  wn-to  wn 
cafe.  One  of 
the  cooks  was 
preparing  a 
toothsome 
dish ;  it  con- 
sisted of  pork, 
onions,  bam- 
boo shoots,  and 
celery,  and  a 
single  portion 
cost  fifteen 
cents.  Fon  is 
rice,  and  the 
price  was  five 
cents  for  a 
bowlful.  Chai 
is    tea,    and 

there  were  several  varieties ;  the  poorest  kind  was  served  free, 
like  water  in  an  American  restaurant ;  but  if  you  wanted  the 
fine  varieties  you  had  to  pay  for  them,  and  the  price  varied 
according  to  the  quality. 

Another  cook  was  preparing  some  pigs'  feet  for  the  stew 
kettle,  and  still  another  was  washing  and  cutting  up  some 
ducks  and  chickens,  and  very  particular  he  was  about  his  work. 
There  was  no  cooking-range  such  as  one  finds  in  the  kitchen  of 
an  American  restaurant ;  the  kettles  were  set  in  brickwork,  and 
the  frying  pans  stood  over  a  sort  of  furnace,  which,  though 


IN  THE  REAR  OF  A  CHINESE  RESTAURANT  ON  PELL   STREET. 
6KLNS   STUFFED   WITH    MEAT    HUNG   UP    TO    DRY. 


Z\ 


562  CHOP  STICKS  AND   ETIQUETTE. 

primitive  in  construction,  was  doubtless  capable  of  frying  to  per- 
fection. 

The  principal  meats  of  the  Chinese  are  pork,  chicken,  and 
duck.  They  eat  very  little  beef,  and  probably  for  every  pound 
of  it  consumed  in  this  restaurant  there  are  twenty  pounds  of 
pork  and  as  many  of  chicken  used. 

It  is  amazing  what  the  Chinaman  will  do  with  pork.  It  is 
safe  to  say  that,  after  rice,  it  is  the  chief  staple  of  Chinese  diet. 
Here  were  whole  carcasses  laid  out  upon  a  table,  being  painted 
with  various  dressings,  and  cut  into  assorted  sizes  and  shapes. 
Different  portions  were  chosen  and  laid  aside  for  different  dishes, 
and  altogether,  when  a  Chinaman  has  done  with  a  pig,  there  is 
"  nothing  of  the  dead  but  bones." 

The  pigeon  and  the  goose  play  a  prominent  part  in  the 
Chinese  bill  of  fare,  and  the  squawking  of  live  birds  in  the 
kitchen  is  a  frequent  sound. 

The  way  that  a  Chinaman  cuts  a  fowl  is  strangely  unlike 
the  European  method.  The  American  or  the  European  un joints 
the  bird  and  strips  the  skeleton  of  its  meat.  Not  so  John  China- 
man. He  slices  a  duck  or  chicken  straight  across,  bones  and  all. 
It  must  be  done  with  an  exceedingly  sharp  knife,  for  the  bones 
are  as  cleanly  cut  as  the  flesh.  In  the  Chinese  cookery  every- 
thing is  prepared  with  a  view  to  the  use  of  chop-sticks,  and  all 
the  viands  are  in  bits  which  can  be  taken  up  easily  with 
those  two  dainty,  straw-like  instruments.  Etiquette  must 
be  observed  in  Chinese  restaurants.  For  example,  when  one 
drinks  tea  he  must  pour  a  little  into  the  cup,  rinse  it  around 
and  empty  it  upon  the  floor.  Whether  this  libation  is  a  pre- 
caution in  behalf  of  cleanliness  or  whether  some  god  must  be 
propitiated,  I  know  not,  and  it  is  needless  to  ask  questions, 
for  upon  all  points  pertaining  to  his  own  customs  John  China- 
man is  strictly  non-committal. 

The  first  thing  that  the  Chinese  waiter  does  is  to  set  the 
table.  This  does  not  imply  the  presence  of  table-cloth  or  nap- 
kins, for  those  luxuries  are  conspicuous  by  their  absence. 
First,  is  brought  a  tin  teapot  which  holds  a  pint,  and  flaring 
cups,  very  small  at  the  bottom,    To  an  American  a  fork  is  gen- 


A  REMARKABLE   BILL  OF   FARE.  5G3 

orally  given,   but  Chinamen    are   provided   with   chopsticks. 

The  tea  having  been  deposited  on  the  table  the  diner  gives  his 
order  for  dinner.  This  is  a  difficult  task  for  an  American. 
Sometimes  two  or  three  Americans  will  drop  in  out  of  curi- 
osity, but  they  rarely  stay  long.  The  best  way  to  dine  here 
is  to  make  up  a  party  and  order  the  dinner  beforehand  ;  then, 
if  you  are  willing  to  pay  enough,  you  can  have  the  big  room  to 
yourselves,  and  the  floor  will  be  swept  and  everything  made 
presentable.  You  can  make  a  dinner  that  will  cost  three  or 
four  dollars  a  head,  by  ordering  expensive  dishes. 

Dinner  parties  in  the  big  room,  about  twenty-five  feet  by 
fifty,  are  not  at  all  infrequent,  and  sometimes  ladies  are  taken 
there  for  the  sake  of  the  novelty.  A  gentleman  of  my  ac- 
quaintance once  gave  a  dinner  to  a  party  of  friends  at  this  very 
restaurant.  The  menu  was  in  Chinese,  and  the  dinner  was 
ordered  three  days  in  advance ;  an  interpreter  translated  the 
menu,  of  which  the  following  is  a  translation  :  — 

First   "Set." 

Sharks?  Fins, 

Boned  Chicken  Stuffed  with  Birds*  Xests, 

Boned  Duck  Stuffed  iritli   Lily  Seed, 

Boast  Duck  Stuffed  with  Chinese  Herbs, 

Fish  Bladder, 

Bock  Lichen  with  Noodles, 

Pear  Wine,   Tea,  and  Preserves. 

Second  Set. 

Yellow- Fish  Iliad- Gristle, 

Sea-  Worms, 

Boast  Pigeon, 

Chinese  Water-Potatoes  and  Fried  Chicken, 

Chicken  Stored  with  Mushrooms, 

Chicken  Muscles  Pique  with  Perfumed  Ham, 

Bice  Wine,  Fruits,  and  Almonds. 

Third  Set. 

Fruits,  including  Oranges,  Apples,  Dried  Lychee  Nuts,  etc., 

Sweet  Pickles, 

Steamed  Cake, 

Lily -Sad  Sjup, 

Birds' -Nest  Soup, 

Boiled  Bice  and  Salted  Eggs. 


564  THE  JOSS-HOUSE  AND  ITS  IDOL. 

In  addition  to  these  things  there  were  various  sweets  on  the 
table.  Each  guest  had  at  his  side  a  saucer  of  a  condiment 
called  "soy"  and  resembling  Worcester  sauce.  Bits  of  meat 
are  dipped  into  the  soy  after  being  raised  from  the  plate  by  the 
chopsticks  and  before  going  to  the  diner's  mouth. 

Ascending  to  the  joss-house  on  the  floor  above,  we  were  wel- 
comed by  the  proprietor,  whose  English  was  as  thin  as  his  coun- 
tenance, which  was  so  withered  that  nearly  all  the  facial  muscles 
were  distinctly  defined.  He  smiled  grimly  upon  the  detective 
and  myself,  and  stood  idly  by  while  my  guide  showed  the  at- 
tractions of  the  place. 

The  center  of  attraction,  and  of  the  room,  is  an  idol  that 
would  be  small  in  a  temple  in  China,  but  is  a  huge  one  for  the 
quarters  in  which  he  finds  himself.  In  front  of  the  idol  is  an 
elaborately-carved  and  gilded  screen  which  was  brought  from 
China  quite  recently ;  it  is  all  carved  by  hand  and  is  as  gaudy 
as  it  is  mysterious  to  the  occidental  spectator.  It  was  detained 
for  some  time  in  the  custom  house,  and  the  duties  amounted  to 
about  four  hundred  dollars.  The  proprietor  was  evidently 
proud  of  it,  and  his  eyes  glistened  as  I  praised  it  in  all  the 
pidgin-English  superlatives  at  my  command. 

The  walls  of  the  room  are  profusely  ornamented  with  ban- 
ners, some  of  them  very  elaborately  embroidered.  They  are 
used  on  grand  occasions,  such  as  funerals  and  New  Year  festiv- 
ities ;  and  in  a  rack  near  them  were  some  standards  that  had  a 
close  resemblance  to  the  torches  which  are  borne  by  political 
patriots  in  night  processions  just  before  a  Presidential  election. 

In  front  of  the  idol  is  an  altar  on  which  the  devout  worship- 
ers place  their  offerings  of  food  for  the  deity  that  presides 
over  the  place.  Exactly  what  becomes  of  this  food  I  was  una- 
ble to  ascertain,  but  I  noted  the  circumstance  that  the  temple 
is  just  above  the  restaurant.  Possibly  the  keepers  of  the  two 
places  find  the  arrangement  excellent  for  returning  articles  that 
the  god  cannot  devour,  so  that  they  may  be  sold  again  and 
perhaps  several  times  over.  The  devotees  who  patronize  the 
temple  go  to  considerable  expense,  and  some  of  the  offerings 
are  the  choicest  delicacies  known  to  the  Chinese  menu.     Many 


AX    OPIIM    S.MOKKK  S    LAY    ol'T. 


505 


it  is 


of  them  are  ordered  from  the  restaurant,  and  therefore 
convenient  to  be  close  to  the  source  of  food  supply. 

The  custo- 
dian of  t h e 
temple  placid- 
ly smoked  his 
pipe,  and  the 
detective  and 
I  continued  to 
smoke  our  ci- 
gars  while  in 
the  joss-house. 
This  was  not 
intended  as  ir- 
reverence, but 
is  the  customa- 
ry way  to  do. 
A  small  room 
at  the  rear  of 
the  temple 
contained     an 

opium  4-  lay-out "  for  two  persons.  At  one  side  of  this  little 
snuggery  there  was  a  raised  platform  about  eighteen  inches 
above  the  floor  and  five  feet  square.  It  was  covered  with 
Chinese  matting,  and  at  each  end  was  a  curtain  which  par- 
tially shielded  it  from  the  gaze  of  persons  outside  the  door.  In 
the  center  of  the  platform  was  a  tray  which  contained  the  smok- 
er's "  lay-out,"  and  each  piece  was  placed  with  the  utmost  preci- 
sion. There  were  two  pipes,  and  it  was  evident  that  two  per- 
sons could  find  room  here  for  a  friendly  smoke. 

The  little  lamp  on  the  tray  is  called  "the  fairy";  it  was 
shielded  with  glass  to  prevent  its  being  easily  extinguished,  and 
was  supplied  with  peanut  oil ;  and  its  flame  was  used  for  cooking 
and  burning  the  opium.  Near  the  lamp  was  a  little  box  of  bone, 
called  the  hop  toy,  that  held  the  opium ;  a  needle  four  or  five 
inches  long  and  flattened  at  one  end  was  the  yen  hoe,  for  holding 
the  opium  in  the  flame;  and  a  little  box  of  tin  held  the  yen  she 


TOBACCO    SMOKERS    EN"    A    JOSS-HOUSE. 


566  A  NIGHT  VISIT   TO  AN  OPIUM  JOINT. 

or  bits  of  refuse  opium.  The  pipe  was  a  piece  of  bamboo  about 
sixteen  inches  long  and  with  a  saucer-shaped  bowl  inserted 
about  one-third  of  the  distance  from  the  end. 

The  value  of  a  pipe  increases  with  its  age  and  saturation. 
This  one  was  black  with  long  use,  and  probably  it  could  not  be 
bought  for  less  than  thirty  dollars ;  perhaps  it  would  bring  as 
high  as  fifty,  and  I  have  seen  one  for  which  one  hundred  dol- 
lars was  refused. 

It  often  happens  that  two  smokers  make  use  of  one  pipe, 
which  is  passed  alternately  from  hand  to  hand.  This  is  par- 
ticularly the  case  in  opium  joints,  where  a  single  pipe  will  serve 
for  a  party  of  two,  three,  or  four.  There  is  economy  in  this,  as 
there  is  a  fixed  charge  for  a  "  lay-out,"  which  includes  the  tray 
and  conteuts  together  with  a  full  charge  of  opium  in  the  hop 
toy. 

I  recall  a  visit  I  once  made  by  night  to  an  opium-joint 
when  they  flourished  in  this  locality.  It  was  in  a  cellar  or 
basement,  and  the  outer  door  was  carefully  guarded  by  a  keen- 
eyed  Chinaman  who  refused  admission  to  strangers  unless  they 
were  properly  escorted.  The  door-keeper  surveyed  us  through 
a  peep-hole  in  the  door,  and  when  he  was  satisfied  with  the  in- 
spection he  unlocked  and  unbolted  the  entrance  and  let  down 
a  chain  whose  links  were  as  large  as  my  little  finger.  A  dozen 
men  would  have  been  powerless  to  break  it. 

"We  proceeded  along  the  narrow  hallway,  which  was  lighted 
by  a  lantern  hung  from  the  ceiling,  then  stopped  at  another 
door,  in  which  a  little  wicket  opened  and  a  yellow  face  ap- 
peared, scrutinizing  us  inquiringly.     "  How  many  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Two,"  my  friend  replied,  and  another  bolt  was  withdrawn 
and  we  entered. 

Our  nostrils  were  greeted  with  the  pungent,  aromatic  odor 
of  burning  opium ;  the  drug  has  an  odor  that  is  very  penetrat- 
ing, and  when  once  it  is  known  it  can  be  readily  recognized. 
This  odor  coming  through  doorways  and  permeating  through 
a  building  in  spite  of  every  precaution  has  frequently  led  to 
the  detection  of  opium  joints  and  caused  their  suppression  by 
the  police. 


OPIUM   SMOKERS  IN   THEIR  HAUNTS. 


5G7 


On  one  side  of  the  room  was  a  little  alcove  like  a  ticket- 
office;  it  was  occupied  by  the  proprietor,  and  just  as  we  entered 
the  place  he  was  weighing  out  a  charge  of  opium  with  some 
tiny  scales  like  the  smallest  of  those  used  by  druggists.  Sev- 
eral trays  were  piled  at  one  side  of  the  counter,  and  there  were 
a  dozen  or  more  fairy  lamps  on  a  shelf  together  with  the  other 
implements  that  make  up  a  lay-out. 

Farther  along  was  a  curtain  which  hung  over  the  entrance 


IIITTENG   THE   PIPE. 


SCENE   IN   AN   OPIUM   DEN   ON   MOTT   STREET. 


of  the  smoking-room.  We  waited  till  the  proprietor  had  made 
the  tray  ready  for  a  customer  and  then  followed  him  into  the 
inner  room.  The  pungent  odor  increased  as  we  passed  the 
thick  curtain,  which  was  drawn  aside  for  us,  and  we  found  our- 
selves in  a  room  about  thirty  feet  long  by  twelve  in  width.  It 
was  dimly  lighted,  and  there  were  several  strata  of  smoke  that 
did  not  exactly  resemble  any  smoke  ordinarily  seen  in  rooms. 
All  around  the  sides  and  ends  of  the  room  were  platforms  or 
bunks,  about  two  feet  high  and  covered  with  Chinese  matting. 
A  few  have  mattresses  instead  of  matting,  out  of  deference 
to  American  tastes.     The  Chinese  smoker  considers  a  board 


568  THE  OPERATION  OF  OPIUM  SMOKING. 

covered  with  matting  quite  soft  enough  for  a  bed,  and  he 
regards  hair,  feathers,  and  French  springs  as  fit  for  anything 
else  in  the  world  but  to  sleep  on. 

On  the  first  of  these  platforms  were  two  Chinese  smoking 
opium.  The  "  boss  "  handed  one  of  them  the  tray  he  had  just 
brought  in.  The  smoker  was  lying  on  the  matting  with  his 
head  resting  on  a  bit  of  wood  just  large  enough  to  support  it. 
As  the  tray  was  brought  he  rose  up  on  his  side,  and  with  the 
yen  hoc  took  a  mass  of  opium  out  of  the  hop  toy.  He  twisted 
the  pasty  mass  until  it  assumed  the  shape  of  a  pill  on  the  end 
of  the  needle ;  holding  this  in  one  hand  he  took  the  pipe  in  the 
other  and  placed  his  lips  against  the  end. 

Next  he  brought  the  bowl  directly  over  the  flame  of  the 
lamp  and  then  held  the  pill  so  that  it  was  burned  in  the  flame ; 
at  the  same  time  he  drew  several  long  inhalations  with  all  the 
force  of  his  lungs  and  expelled  the  smoke  through  his  nostrils. 

Three  or  four  whiffs,  or  may  be  half  a  dozen,  exhausted  the 
pill  of  opium  and  finished  the  performance.  The  man  had  taken 
one  pipe  of  opium.  He  placed  the  pipe  by  the  side  of  the  tray 
and  fell  back  upon  his  head-rest  in  a  condition  of  drowsiness. 
His  comrade  picked  up  the  pipe,  formed  a  pill  of  opium  from 
the  mass  in  the  box,  and  smoked  it  in  the  way  we  had  just 
seen.  Evidently  the  men  were  adepts  at  the  business,  as  they 
were  skillful  in  the  manipulation  of  the  pill,  which  is  quite  an 
awkward  matter  for  the  beginner. 

Having  witnessed  the  operation  of  "hitting  the  pipe"  I 
moved  on  past  the  line  of  bunks  that  were  filled  with  occu- 
pants. A  few  hid  their  faces,  but  the  majority  were  so  far 
under  the  influence  of  the  drug  as  to  be  indifferent  to  surround- 
ing circumstances.  Nearly  all  the  bunks  were  occupied,  some 
having  but  a  single  smoker,  and  others  two,  three,  or  four 
occupants.  Less  than  half  the  number  of  smokers  were  Chi- 
nese, the  others  being  Americans. 

Few  white  men  can  run  an  opium  joint  successfully.  A 
Chinaman  is  meek,  pretends  not  to  understand  when  anything 
insulting  is  said  to  him,  and  so  long  as  he  gets  paid  for  the 
opium  does  not  care  what  the  patrons  do.     On  the  contrary,  a 


A  WHITE    WOMAN  s   EXPERIENCE. 


569 


white  man  will  not  stand  insult,  and  wants  to  boss  the  place  to 
suit  himself. 

Nearly  all  the  white  women  who  frequent  Chinatown  ar<» 
addicted  to  opium-smoking,  and  many  of  them  are  so  con- 
firmed in  the  habit  that  they  would  find  great  difficulty  in 
shaking  it  off.  "I've  got  theyeriryen  (opium  habit)  the  worst 
way,"  said  one  woman,  "and  must  have  my  pipe  every  night. 
I  want  two  or  three  pipes  before  I  can  get  to  sleep,  and  some- 
times I  want  half  a  dozen." 

"How  long  have  you  been  hitting  the  pipe  ?"  I  asked. 


A    CHINAMAH    AND    HIS    WHITE    WIFE    SMOKING 
OPIUM. 


"How  long?  Let  me  see;  it's 
about  four  years.  When  I  tried  the 
first  time  I  thought  it  would  strangle  me,  but  I  soon  found 
that  it  was  pleasanter  than  cigarette  smoke  and  didn't  make 
me  cough.  But  I  smoked  so  much  the  first  night  that  it  made 
me  deathly  sick,  and  I  felt  awful  the  next  morning.  I  smoked 
a  night  or  two  after  that  and  got  along  much  better,  and  that's 
the  way  I  started.  Now  I  must  have  a  smoke  every  night  or 
I  cant  live." 

"I  can  cook  a  pill  just  as  well  as  a  Chink  (Chinaman),"  she 
continued;  '"just  see  me  do  it." 

With  that  she  dipped  the  point  of  the  needle  into  the 
sticky  mass  of  opium  in  the  little  box  of  bone,  and  after  twirl- 
ing it  dexterously  a  few  times  brought  it  out  with  a  lump  the 
size  of  a  pea  at  the  end.     Then  she  held  the  pea  in  the  llame 


570  A  MISERABLE  COMPANY. 

of  the  fairy  lamp  till  it  was  cooked,  its  color  changing  from 
black  to  the  tint  of  old  gold.  Then  she  rolled  it  on  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  pipe  bowl  to  expel  the  poisonous  juices,  and 
when  it  was  in  proper  condition  she  placed  it  in  the  bowl  of 
the  pipe,  held  it  in  the  flame  of  the  lamp,  and  with  her  lips 
against  the  ivory  mouth-piece  inhaled  the  smoke  slowly,  just 
as  we  had  seen  the  Chinese  do  in  the  first  bunk  where  we 
stopped. 

Near  the  farther  end  of  the  room  was  a  bunk  occupied  by 
four  white  women,  three  of  them  being  apparently  adepts  in 
the  vice,  and  the  fourth  a  novice.  Four  persons  crowd  a  bunk 
very  closely  ;  two  recline  their  heads  upon  the  pillows  or  head- 
rests, and  the  other  two  make  use  of  their  companions  for  the 
same  purpose.  A  party  may  consist  of  either  men  or  women, 
or  it  may  be  made  up  of  both  sexes ;  opium-smokers  do  not 
stand  on  ceremony  with  each  other,  and  strangers  will  recline 
on  the  same  bunk  and  draw  intoxication  from  the  same  pipe 
without  the  least  hesitation.  The  old  adage  says  "Misery 
loves  company;"  this  is  certainly  the  case  with  debauchery, 
and  especially  of  debauchery  through  opium. 

The  occupants  of  the  joint  were  in  various  stages  of  the 
opium  intoxication.  Some  had  taken  their  second,  third, 
fourth,  or  other  pipes,  and  were  in  a  state  of  partial  or  com- 
plete insensibility ;  the  victims  would  often  lie  there  for 
hours  and  sleep  away  as  much  as  they  could  of  the  effects  of 
the  drug  and  rise  in  the  morning  with  a  feeling  of  hunger  and 
thirst,  but  a  hunger  that  could  not  be  allayed  by  food.  Their 
nerves  would  be  more  or  less  shaken,  according  to  the  length  of 
time  they  had  been  addicted  to  the  opium  habit;  and  they 
would  long  for  the  arrival  of  the  night,  when  they  could  again 
smoke  and  fall  into  a  state  of  forgetfulness. 

The  opium  used  for  smoking  —  called  by  the  smokers 
"dope"  —  is  an  aqueous  extract  of  the  ordinary  commercial 
gum.  The  Chinese  have  a  secret  mode  of  preparing  this  ex- 
tract, making  it  more  palatable  to  the  taste  and  easier  to  get 
ready  for  smoking.  It  is  imported  from  China  usually  in  ob- 
long brass  boxes  about  five  inches  long  and  two  and  a  half 


A  VICE  THAT   CLINGS  TO  ITS  VICTIMS. 


571 


wide.  The  can  is  only  half  filled,  as  in  warm  weather  it  puffs 
up  and  would  overflow  if  allowance  was  not  made  for  this 
swelling.  It  is  about  the  consistency  of  tar  melted  in  the  sun, 
and  nearly  the  same  color.  The  mode  of  measuring  it,  when 
selling,  is  by  a  Chinese  weight  called  funs.  There  are  about 
eighty-three  fwrw  in  an  ounce,  and  a  can  contains  four  hundred 
and  fifteen  fune,  or  about  five  ounces.     The  best  quality  of 


A   SLY   OPIUM   SMOKER. 

(This  photograph  was  made  by  flash-light  in  a  Chinese  opium  den  on  Pell  street  when  the 
smoker  was  supposed  to  be  fast  asleep.  Subsequently  the  photograph  disclosed  the  fact  that  he 
had  at  least  one  eye  open  when  the  picture  was  made.) 

this  sells  for  eight  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents  a  can,  and  in- 
ferior grades  run  as  low  as  six  dollars.  In  smaller  quantities 
eight  to  ten  fune  are  sold  for  twenty -five  cents. 

Whenever  a  joint  is  discovered  and  raided  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  city,  but  few  if  any  Chinese  are  found  in  them.  The 
up-town  joints  are  patronized  almost  exclusively  by  white 
people,  and  I  believe  that  the  vice  cannot  be  wholly  stamped 
out  of  existence.  When  once  acquired  the  habit  is  not  easily 
shaken  off,  as  it  clings  to  its  victims  with  great  tenacity. 

One  up-town  joint  which  was  raided  only  a  few  months  ago 
was  located  in  a  respectable  apartment-house,  and  suspicion  was 


572 


RAIDING  AN  OPIUM  JOINT. 


drawn  to  it  by  the  large  number  of  well-dressed  and  well-be- 
haved people  of  both  sexes  who  went  there,  and  also  by  the 
peculiar  odor  that  came  from  the  door  and  permeated  the  halls 
of  the  building.  Ten  men  and  five  women  were  captured,  and 
passed  the  rest  of  the  night  in  the  Jefferson  Market  police  sta- 
tion.    All  gave  fictitious  names,  and  some  of  the  women  cried 


CAUGHT   IN   THE   ACT.      AN   OPIUM   SMOKER   SURPRISED   WHILE   SMOKENG. 


and  begged  to  be  let  off,  as  this,  so  they  alleged,  was  the  first 
time  they  had  ever  been  in  the  place.  The  smoking  implements 
that  were  captured  in  the  raid  were  of  the  highest  class  of 
workmanship  and  are  an  important  addition  to  the  museum  at 
police  Headquarters.  One  of  the  prisoners  was  a  doctor  who 
lived  at  a  first-class  hotel  and  had  a  goodly  list  of  fashionable 
patients.  He  claimed  to  have  gone  there  for  scientific  observa- 
tion and  not  for  the  purpose  of  smoking  the  pernicious  drug, 


DEATH   THE   PENALTY   OF   THE   OPIUM   HABIT.  573 

but  he  followed  the  example  of  the  others  in  giving  a  fictitious 
name  when  arrested. 

The  raid  upon  this  opium-joint  and  the  revelations  that  fol- 
lowed are  most  unpleasantly  suggestive  of  the  growth  of  a  vice 
which,  until  within  a  few  years,  was  almost  exclusively  con- 
fined to  Chinatown.  It  is  not  necessary  to  refer  to  official 
records  for  proof  that  the  opium  habit  is  spreading  steadily 
and,  comparatively  speaking,  fast.  The  statements  of  physicians 
and  druggists,  and  even  common  observation,  supply  convinc- 
ing evidence  of  the  fact. 

It  is  not  probable  that  Xew  York  now  contains  many  large 
and  luxuriously  appointed  resorts  for  opium-smokers;  but  if 
private  houses  could  be  turned  inside  out  they  would  almost 
certainly  reveal  a  startling  number  of  individual  victims  who 
are  accustomed  to  practice  the  vice  in  solitude.  There  is  every 
reason  to  suppose  that,  without  reference  to  the  Chinese  quar- 
ter, there  are  not  a  few  establishments,  cautiously  conducted 
amid  decent  surroundings,  which  are  regularly  supported  by 
coteries  of  habitual  patrons  and  more  or  less  accessible  to  oc- 
casional visitors.  The  increasing  sale  of  the  drug,  the  admis- 
sions of  the  medical  profession,  and  the  experience  of  the  hos- 
pitals, unmistakably  point  to  this  conclusion. 

For  reasons  which  are  obscure,  though  the  fact  is  notorious, 
indulgence  in  the  use  of  opium  destroys  the  Chinaman  far  less 
surely,  quickly,  and  completely  than  the  Caucasian.  To 
Americans  in  particular  it  means  swift  and  certain  degrada- 
tion. 

Property  has  greatly  advanced  in  Mott  Street,  and  rents 
have  been  more  than  doubled  since  the  Chinese  located  them- 
selves there.  Some  of  the  buildings  have  been  reconstructed 
by  them,  and  wherever  they  have  taken  property  in  hand  for 
the  purpose  of  improvement  they  have  spent  money  liberally. 
With  the  exception  of  the  white  women  already  mentioned 
they  do  not  allow  any  people  not  of  their  own  race  to  live 
among  them,  and  will  doubtless  continue  their  exclusiveness  as 
long  as  they  remain  here. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  SPIDER  AND  THE  FLY  — MOCK  AUCTIONS,  BOGUS  HORSE 
SALES  AND  OTHER  TRAPS  FOR  THE  UNWARY  —  PERSONAL 
EXPERIENCES. 

Ingenious  Lawyers  —  Swindling  Advertisements  —  Mock  Auctions  —  My  Own 
Experience  —  Mr.  Barmore's  Purchases  —  Socks  "By  the  Dozen"  —  A 
Stool-Pigeon  —  The  Merchant  from  Trenton  —  I  am  Trapped  —  A  Sudden 
Cessation  of  Business  —  Putting  it  down  to  Experience  —  Perennial  Buyers 

—  What  ' '  By  the  Dozen  "  Means  —  A  Mean  Swindle  —  Easily  Taken  in  — 
Base  Counterfeits  —  Bogus  Horse-Dealers  —  The  Gentleman  "Just  Going 
to  Europe"  —  A  "Private  Stable"  —  A  Considerate  Horse-Owner  —  Busi- 
ness-Like Methods  —  A  Breathless  Stranger  Arrives  on  the  Scene — "An- 
derson of  New  Haven  "  —  A  Chance  to  Make  Fifty  Dollars  in  Five  Minutes 

—  A  Warm  Discussion  —  A  "Doctored"  Horse  —  A  Trusty  Groom — A 
Critical  Inspection  —  Arrival  of  Mr.  Wakeman — "Dr.  Bryan's"  Office  — 
"Just  Around  the  Corner"  —  Looking  for  the  Doctor  —  Where  He  Was 
Found  —  A  Muddy  Plight  —  Tears  and  Smiles. 

LEGISLATOES  have  for  a  long  time  sought  to  put  an  end 
to  a  form  of  swindling  carried  on  under  the  pretence  of 
selling  goods  at  auction.  Lawyers  have  exhausted  their  inge- 
nuity in  framing  measures  for  the  suppression  of  the  mock-auc- 
tion fraud,  but  every  time  they  secure  the  passage  of  a  bill  with 
that  object  in  view,  somebody  equally  shrewd  will  discover  a 
loop-hole  in  it.  The  snake  has  been  scotched  but  not  killed ; 
some  of  the  mock  auctions  have  been  broken  up,  while  others 
continue  to  flourish. 

The  heaviest  blow  was  struck  when  the  law  required  that 
auctions  should  be  advertised  in  the  daily  papers  with  the  list 
of  the  articles  to  be  sold.  This  put  an  end  to  the  establishments 
along  Park  Row  and  Chatham  Street,  where  the  swindling  was 
very  thinly  disguised,  but  it  did  not  strike  some  of  the  "dry- 
goods  auctions  "  on  Broadway.  All  that  was  necessary  to  do 
to  evade  the  law  was  to  keep  a  standing  advertisement  in  an 

(574) 


A  VISIT   TO   A  MOCK  AUCTION   ROOM.  575 

obscure  paper  announcing  sales  every  day  of  "assorted  lots  of 
gentlemen's  furnishing  goods,  calicoes,  ginghams,  muslins,  and 
other  fabrics,  the  property  of  concerns  that  desired  to  make 
clearances  of  old  stock,"  etc. 

I  used  to  stroll  occasionally  into  one  of  these  establishments 
and  watch  the  operations  of  those  who  ran  the  place.  The  first 
time  I  went  there  I  was  evidently  looked  upon  as  a  promising 
customer,  as  the  auctioneer  began  knocking  down  things  at  an 
alarmingly  rapid  rate  to  half  a  dozen  men  who  stood  around  a 
table  and  were  evidently  buying  liberally. 

"  What  name  ? "  said  the  auctioneer,  as  he  knocked  down  a 
dozen  pairs  of  socks  to  a  thin,  smooth-faced  man  of  about  sixty 
years. 

"  Barmore,"  was  the  reply,  and  the  auctioneer  called  out, 
"  Mr.  Barmore  "  to  the  clerk  who  stood  just  behind  him. 

The  package  was  charged  to  the  gentleman,  and  then  an- 
other lot  —  this  time  of  five  dozen  pairs  —  was  put  up. 

This  lot  was  quickly  sold.  The  auctioneer  demanded  re- 
peatedly, "How  much  am  I  offered  for  these  socks  by  the 
dozen  ?     How  much  ?     How  much,  gentlemen  ? " 

Lot  after  lot  was  sold,  and  there  were  numerous  glances  in 
my  direction.  I  showed  no  indication  of  making  an  offer,  and 
one  of  the  buyers,  who  had  remained  constantly  by  my  side 
and  was  disposed  to  be  communicative,  asked  me  if  I  didn't 
want  some  of  these  goods,  which  were  going  very  cheap. 

"I  don't  care  for  them,"  I  answered.  "They're  cheap,  it's 
true,  but  just  now  I  don't  want  any." 

He  told  me  he  was  a  merchant  at  Trenton,  Xew  Jersey,  and 
had  dropped  in  by  accident.  "  Things  are  going  so  low,"  said 
he,  "  that  I've  laid  in  enough  of  some  kinds  of  goods  to  last  me 
a  whole  year." 

Business  began  to  lag,  when  another  man  dropped  in,  evi- 
dently a  stranger  like  myself. 

Then  the  activity  and  eager  buying  and  selling  were  re- 
newed, and  the  buyers  took  everything  that  was  offered.  The 
stock  of  gentlemen's  foot-gear  seemed  inexhaustible. 

The  stranger  bought  one  of  the  five-dozen  lots,  and  as  soon 


576  WHAT 

as  the  goods  had  been  knocked  down  to  him  he  and  the  other 
purchasers  were  asked  to  step  to  the  rear  of  the  store,  where 
the  bookkeeper  would  make  out  their  bills.  At  this  point  the 
auctioneer  suddenly  announced  that  the  sale  was  over  for  the 
forenoon  and  would  be  resumed  at  two  o'clock.  It  was  his 
time  to  go  to  lunch,  he  said,  as  he  had  breakfasted  very  early 
that  morning,  and  he  hoped  to  see  all  of  us  at  the  hour  named 
for  the  resumption.  As  I  could  frame  no  good  excuse  for  re- 
maining I  departed,  leaving  "Mr.  Barmore"  and  the  other 
purchasers  to  settle  their  accounts. 

You  ask  what  happened  after  I  left.  "Well,  the  stranger, 
who  was  a  bona-fide  purchaser,  received  a  bill  for  the  goods  at 
a  rate  which  astonished  him.  He  had  bought  five  dozen  pairs 
of  socks  at  seventy  cents,  "  by  the  dozen,"  and  expected  to  pay 
$3.50  for  the  lot.  But  the  bill  was  made  out  at  seventy  cents 
for  each  pair,  or  $42  for  the  quantity  he  had  purchased. 

He  demurred.  The  auctioneer  explained  that  "  by  the 
dozen  "  meant  that  they  did  not  sell  less  than  one  dozen  pairs 
to  any  one,  —  they  never  broke  a  package. 

Mr.  Barmore  and  the  other  fraudulent  purchasers  sustained 
this  view  of  the  case,  and  with  great  alacrity  proceeded  to 
settle  their  bills  at  that  rate.  Meantime  the  doors  had  been 
closed,  the  stranger  realized  that  he  was  caught  in  a  trap,  and 
he  concluded  that  the  best  way  out  of  the  difficulty  was  to  pay 
the  bill  and  put  it  down  to  experience.  Had  he  refused  to  pay 
he  would  have  been  threatened  with  arrest,  and  as  all  the  other 
buyers  held  precisely  the  same  views  as  the  auctioneer  the  vic- 
tim would  have  had  no  witnesses  in  his  behalf. 

Half  an  hour  later  I  again  entered  the  place,  and  the  auc- 
tion which  had  been  postponed  until  two  o'clock  was  in  full 
blast  with  the  same  "  buyers  "  as  before.  For  years  the  same 
crowd  was  there,  and  whenever  I  went  inside  something  was 
knocked  off  to  "  Mr.  Barmore."  But  I  was  always  recognized, 
and  no  effort  was  made  to  induce  me  to  invest  in  the  goods 
offered  for  sale.  I  always  observed  that  the  articles  to  be 
disposed  of  were  "  by  the  dozen,"  and  the  dozen  was  evidently 
a  combination  very  popular  with  the  managers  of  this  fraud. 


THE   CIGAR  SWINDLE.  577 

After  many  arrests  and  escapes  the  chief  promoter  of  the 
mock-auction  business  was  sent  to  State  prison.  For  a  long 
time  the  law  was  powerless  to  suppress  the  fraud,  and  the  mayor 
could  only  give  protection  to  citizens  by  sending  out  a  daily 
procession  of  men  and  boys  to  parade  up  and  down  the  street, 
bearing  banners  on  which  was  painted  the  legend,  "Beware  of 
Mock  Auctioneers."  A  story  was  current  at  this  time  to  the 
effect  that  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  having  come  over  to  New 
York  to  study  human  nature,  went  into  one  of  these  auction- 
rooms,  and  in  order  to  hide  his  purpose,  bid,  and  successfully, 
for  some  small  article.  As  the  auctioneer  knocked  down  the 
great  preacher's  purchase  he  horrified  him  by  shouting  out  his 
name.  Mr.  Beecher  hastened  to  make  payment  and  said,  in 
low  voice,  "  How  did  you  know  my  name  ?  I  did  not  want  to 
be  recognized."  "  0,  Mr.  Beecher,"  was  the  loud  reply,  "  I've 
had  a  pew  in  your  church  these  last  two  years."  Doubtless 
the  story  is  an  invention  of  the  enemy,  and  yet  it  might  have 
pleased  the  large-hearted  pastor  of  Plymouth  Church  had  it 
been  true. 

Another  fraudulent  auction  is  that  of  cigars.  They  are 
sold  "  by  the  box,"  but  the  fraud  does  not  consist  in  following 
the  same  plan  as  in  the  dry -goods  swindle,  but  in  selling  goods 
that  would  be  dear  at  nothing  at  all.  Five,  ten,  or  twenty 
boxes  are  offered  in  a  lot,  and  one  box  is  opened  as  a  sample. 
The  cigars  present  a  good  appearance  and  a  customer  mayv 
smoke  one  from  the  "  sample  "  if  he  likes,  and  if  he  does  he 
will  find  it  fairly  good.  They  are  in  boxes  of  fifty  and  go 
readily  at  from  one  to  two  dollars  a  box. 

The  economical  smoker  thinks  he  has  found  a  good  thing 
and  buys  liberally.  If  he  wishes  to  look  on  the  inside  of  each 
and  every  box  no  objection  is  made  to  his  doing  so;  but 
naturally  the  inspection  is  a  hurried  one,  —  the  cigars  are  all 
right  to  the  eye  and  he  is  well  satisfied  with  his  speculation. 

It  is  not  until  he  undertakes  to  smoke  one  of  his  purchases 
that  he  learns  how  badly  he  has  been  deceived.  They  are,  as 
before  stated,  all  right  to  the  eye,  but  there  is  where  their  good- 
ness ends.     As  men  do  not  smoke  with  their  eyes  they  have 


578  FRAUDULENT   HORSE-DEALERS. 

little  use  for  this  kind  of  cigars,  which  are  made  of  straw, 
wrapped  in  paper  colored  so  as  to  exactly  resemble  the  tobacco 
leaf,  and  they  are  altogether  the  basest  kind  of  counterfeit. 
Of  course  the  "sample"  that  the  purchaser  smoked  was  from 
another  lot. 

I  narrowly  escaped  buying  five  hundred  of  these  cigars  the 
first  time  I  dropped  into  the  place.  My  suspicions  were  aroused 
by  the  rapidity  with  which  several  flashy  men  were  purchas- 
ing, and  so  I  concluded  to  wait.  Meeting  a  friend  a  block  or 
two  below,  I  told  him  of  the  cigar  auction  and  how  cheaply 
the  goods  were  going. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  bought  two  hundred  there  last  week 
and  took  them  home.  I  tried  to  smoke  one,  then  tried  another 
with  the  same  result,  and  then  I  broke  a  dozen  or  so  of  them 
open.  They  were  all  alike,  nothing  but  straw  and  brown  paper, 
and  I  threw  the  lot  into  the  ash-barrel.  I  wouldn't  insult  a 
tramp  by  offering  him  one  of  those  cigars." 

One  of  the  most  flourishing  swindles  in  the  metropolis  is 
that  of  the  bogus  horse-dealer. 

In  some  of  the  morning  papers  may  be  found  every  day  in 
the  year  an  advertisement  of  one,  two,  or  more  horses  for  sale, 
at  a  private  stable,  the  property  of  a  gentleman  about  going  to 
Europe  or  to  the  South  or  to  California  for  his  health ;  or  some 
other  reason  is  given  why  the  animals  should  be  disposed  of 
immediately.  Here  is  a  copy  of  one  of  these  advertisements, 
clipped  from  a  paper  now  lying  before  me :  — 

A  GENTLEMAN'S  CONTINUED  ILL  HEALTH  COM- 
pels  him  to  sacrifice  immediately  his  very  handsome,  styl- 
ish, fast  trotting  road  and  family  Horse,  15J^  hands,  a  free,  easy, 
pleasant  driver,  kind  and  true  in  all  harness,  afraid  of  nothing, 
and  perfectly  gentle;  also  pet  Horse  for  lady's  driving;  both  war- 
ranted young  and  sound.  Great  bargains  to  quick  purchasers. 
Apply  to  groom  at  private  stable  137  West  — th  st. 

You  and  I  know  a  good  horse  when  we  see  it,  and  as  we 
are  not  averse  to  a  purchase  at  fair  rates  we  will  answer  this 
advertisement  in  person. 

We  go  around  to  the  stable  and  find  it  in  charge  of  a  man 
who  says  that  he  is  the  groom  referred  to  in  the  advertisement, 
and  that  he  represents  the  owner  of  the  horses.    He  states  that 


ARRIVAL  OF  A  BREATHLESS   STRANGER.  579 

the  owner,  Mr.  Blank,  lives  at  Yonkers.  and  has  sent  the  stock 
here  for  sale  and  taken  the  private  stable  in  order  to  avoid  the 
tricks  of  the  precious  rascals  who  are  always  to  be  found  at 
public  establishments.  At  length  he  shows  the  horses  and 
dilates  upon  their  superior  qualities  and  wonderful  pedigrees, 
and  then  asks  if  we  are  engaged  in  the  horse-dealing  business. 

AVe  tell  him  we  are  not,  that  we  are  buying,  if  we  buy  at 
all,  for  our  own  use,  either  here  or  in  the  country. 

He  is  apparently  relieved  by  this  information,  and  then  re- 
turns to  the  subject  of  the  sale.  The  driving-horse  looks  very 
well,  and  is  apparently  in  good  condition,  and  is  especially 
praised  by  the  groom,  who  says  it  is  well  worth  three  hundred 
dollars,  but  Mr.  Blank  is  willing  to  close  it  out  at  two  hundred 
to  a  private  gentleman  who  will  appreciate  and  care  for  it. 

TThile  we  are  talking  and  discussing  the  merits  of  the  ani- 
mal, a  stranger  well-nigh  out  of  breath  enters,  who  states  that 
he  has  read  the  advertisement  and  wants  to  see  the  horses. 
He  is  a  pompous,  bustling  sort  of  man,  and  evidently  accus- 
tomed to  quick  transactions. 

After  looking  the  stock  over  the  new-comer  finally  settles 
on  the  horse  that  was  just  offered  to  us  for  two  hundred  dol- 
lars, examines  it  carefully,  and  pronounces  it  a  remarkably  tine 
beast.     Then  he  meditates  a  moment  and  says  off-hand: 

"  I  like  that  horse  pretty  well  and  will  come  to  business 
right  off.  I'll  give  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  spot  cash  for 
him,  and  not  another  cent." 

"Are  you  a  dealer  in  horses  ?"  queries  the  man  in  charge. 

"Yes,"  is  the  reply,  "I'm  Anderson  of  New  Haven,  every- 
body up  that  way  knows  me.  I  buy  hundreds  of  horses  in 
Xew  York  every  month  and  have  ten  carloads  on  the  way 
from  Kentucky  now." 

-Then  you  can't  have  this  horse,"  says  the  other.  "Mr. 
Blank  gave  me  strict  orders  that  the  horses  were  not  to  be  sold 
to  any  dealer,  but  to  private  parties  only.  You  see  he's  much 
attached  to  these  horses  and  wants  to  be  sure  that  they  go 
where  they'll  be  appreciated  and  well  treated,  just  as  they 
alwavs  have  been." 


580        HOW  CONFEDERATES  WORK  TOGETHER. 

Mr.  Anderson  is  greatly  surprised  at  these  remarks,  and 
says  a  little  impatiently  that  his  money  is  as  good  as  any  other 
man's. 

"  It  isn't  a  question  of  money  at  all,"  is  the  quick  reply, 
"  but  a  whim  of  Mr.  Blank's.  He's  rich  enough  to  give  away 
the  horses  for  nothing  if  he's  a  mind  to,  and  he'd  never  feel  it 
either;  and  if  he  can't  sell 'em  to  the  right  parties, — private 
parties,  mind  you, — he'll  send  'em  to  Squire  Woods  and  pay 
their  board  and  keep  'em  doing  nothing  for  the  rest  of  their 
lives." 

The  discussion  grows  hot,  each  party  becoming  more  and 
more  excited,  and  during  this  war  of  words  the  horse  is  offered 
\o  us,  as  we  are  "private  gentlemen,"  for  two  hundred  dollars. 
We  decline  to  purchase,  and,  as  we  leave,  "  Mr.  Anderson  of 
New  Haven"  follows  us.  When  we  are  well  around  the  cor- 
ner he  overtakes  us  and  says  in  a  low  and  confidential  tone, 

"Look  here,  gentlemen,  I  s'pose  you  don't  mind  making 
fifty  dollars  in  about  five  minutes.  Go  back  and  get  that 
horse  for  me  for  two  hundred,  bring  him  round  the  corner 
here  or  over  to  the  stable  there  just  around  the  corner  on  the 
next  block  and  I'll  give  you  two  hundred  and  fifty  for  him 
cash  down.  You  know  what  I  offered ;  the  horse  is  well 
worth  three  hundred  easy,  and  I  can  make  fifty  on  him  besides 
expenses  to  New  Haven." 

We  eagerly  take  the  opportunity  thus  offered  to  make  a 
neat  profit  of  fifty  dollars,  and  we  return  to  buy  the  horse. 
There  is  some  demur  by  the  groom  because  we  are  unknown, 
but  not  much,  only  enough  to  convince  us  of  the  sincerity  of 
Mr.  Blank  and  his  trusty  agent.  The  latter  takes  our  word  for 
it  that  we  are  what  we  represent,  accepts  the  money  for  the 
horse,  carefully  blankets  him,  strokes  his  nose,  fondly  pats  him 
on  the  neck,  and  we  proudly  lead  him  out  of  the  stable  and 
around  the  corner,  where  we  confidently  suppose  Mr.  Ander- 
son awaits  us. 

But  he  is  not  there  ;  he  is  evidently  at  the  stable  he  pointed 
out  to  us  "just  around  the  corner."  He  is  not  in  sight.  Anx- 
ious inquiry  at  the  stable  reveals  the  fact  that  the  people  there 


A  WELL-PLANNED   SCHEME.  581 

know  nothing  about  him.  We  tell  our  story.  They  bluntly 
inform  us  that  we  have  been  the  victims  of  a  fraud,  as  the 

horse  is  really  worthless,  having  been  "doctored"  to  make  him 
look  well.  We  have  only  the  consolation  of  learning  that 
hundreds  of  other  victims  have  been  trapped  in  precisely  tin? 
same  way.  The  game  has  been  exposed  in  the  papers  over 
and  over  again,  but  it  thrives  just  the  same. 

Some  years  ago  I  wanted  to  buy  a  saddle-horse,  and  one 
morning  saw  an  advertisement  of  an  animal  that  I  thought- 
might  suit  me. 

The  place,  as  usual,  was  a  "private  stable,"  and  I  went  there 
not  suspecting  for  a  moment  that  there  was  anything  "crooked  " 
about  it.  A  man  and  a  boy  were  in  the  stable,  and  I  thought 
nothing  of  the  circumstance  that  the  boy  suddenly  went  out  a 
moment  after  I  entered.  The  horse  was  led  out  of  his  stall  in 
response  to  my  inquiry,  and  the  man  told  me  that  the  animal 
was  six  years  old  and  belonged  to  a  Wall  Street  operator  whose 
doctor  had  told  him  he  must  give  up  horseback  riding,  which 
increased  a  nervous  affection  from  which  he  suffered.  The 
horse  was  a  first-class  "  all-rounder,"  he  said ;  that  is,  he  was 
excellent  under  the  saddle  and  equally  good  in  harness,  was  of 
a  gentle  disposition,  though  spirited,  and  warranted  perfectly 
sound  and  kind.  He  could  carry  my  weight  easily,  as  the  Wall 
Street  man  was  fully  as  heavy  as  myself  and  had  ridden  the 
horse  for  eighteen  months.  The  price  was  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars. 

While  I  was  examining  the  horse  and  learning  his  history, 
a  large,  beery -faced  man  entered  the  stable,  and  with  an  over- 
the-sea  accent  asked  in  a  loud  voice, 

"  Where's  the  saddle-horse  Mr.  Wakeman  was  looking  at  \ " 

"  Here  he  is,  sir,"  replied  the  man  in  charge,  indicating  the 
verv  animal  that  I  was  considering:. 

The  beery-faced  man  brushed  me  aside,  or  rather  took  no 
notice  of  me,  and  for  some  minutes  was  entirely  engrossed  in 
examining  the  horse.  He  went  over  him  critically,  carefully 
inspecting  his  teeth,  looking  at  his  legs  for  ringbone,  spavins, 
splints,  curbs,  puffs,  and  I  don't  know  what  else,  walked  him 


582  WHERE  THE  DOCTOR  WAS  FOUND. 

around  the  stable,  and  made  numerous  other  investigations  sup- 
posed to  pertain  to  the  horse-expert.  Meantime  the  boy  re- 
turned, and  when  the  examination  was  concluded,  the  stranger 
called  him  up  and  said  in  a  loud  and  commanding  voice, 

"  Boy,  go  around  to  Mr.  Wakeman's,  No.  192  on street, 

and  say  Dr.  Bryan  has  looked  at  the  horse  he  wrote  about,  and 
the  horse  is  absolutely  sound  and  just  six  years  old,  and  worth 
three  hundred  dollars  quick  any  day.  Don't  forget  the  name, 
now;  Mr.  "Wakeman,  and  say  Dr.  Bryan  sent  you.  Remember, 
Dr.  Bryan." 

The  boy  went  to  deliver  the  message,  and  the  "  doctor " 
went  out  almost  immediately,  never  noticing  my  presence  in 
any  way  whatever,  or  saying  another  word  to  the  stableman. 
The  comedy  was  well  played,  with  the  exception  of  being  over 
acted  and  leaving  on  my  mind  the  impression  that  it  was  rather 
odd  that  Dr.  Bryan  entrusted  his  message  verbally  to  a  boy  he, 
presumably,  had  never  seen  before.  Needless  to  say,  I  did  not 
buy  the  horse. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  possibly  I  should  find  Dr.  Bryan  at 
the  nearest  barroom.  There  was  one  opposite  the  stable,  and 
through  the  half  open  door  leading  into  the  back  room,  which 
could  easily  be  seen  from  the  street,  I  saw  the  doctor  seated  at 
a  table  indulging  in  a  drink  with  some  one  who  appeared  to  be 
an  acquaintance.  This  was  evidently  the  retreat  where  he 
could  be  found  when  needed  for  "  business." 

A  petty  swindle  occasionally  practiced  upon  residents  of  the 
city  is  the  following :  — 

A  merchant  goes  down  town  to  business  in  the  morning  as 
usual.  Along  in  the  forenoon  a  man  nearly  out  of  breath  calls 
at  his  residence,  who  says  he  is  a  clerk  in  the  gentleman's  em- 
ploy and  that  just  as  he  was  crossing  the  street  in  front  of  his 

office  Mr. was  run  over  by  a  dray  in  charge  of  a  careless 

drunken  driver.  He  was  not  injured  at  all,  but  was  covered 
with  mud,  and  his  clothes  were  so  badly  torn  that  he  is  quite 
unpresentable.  He  is  attending  to  business  in  his  back  office, 
but  cannot  see  any  one  until  he  receives  a  decent  suit  of  clothes 


A  CLEVER   SWINDLE.  583 

from  home.  He  wants  his  spare  suit,  the  one  he  wore  before 
he  got  the  last  one. 

In  her  excitement  at  the  news  of  the  accident  and  her 
pleasure  to  know  that  her  husband  was  not  injured,  his  good 
wife  hurries  to  make  a  bundle  of  the  clothing  asked  for,  and 
delivers  it  into  the  hands  of  the  clerk.  The  clerk  hurries  away 
at  the  top  of  his  walking  speed ;  she  thinks  it  is  in  his  anxiety 
to  restore  his  employer  to  a  presentable  condition  as  soon 
as  possible,  but  the  fellow's  speed  comes  from  another  motive. 
He  turns  the  nearest  corner  and  then  hies  to  a  pawn-shop, 
where  second-hand  clothing  can  be  "  spouted  "  or  sold. 

When  the  husband  returns  home  to  dinner  his  wife  is  wait- 
ing for  him  at  the  door. 

"  Oh !  I  am  so  glad  you  weren't  hurt,"  she  exclaims.  "It 
gave  me  an  awful  shock." 

"  Shock,  how  ?  "  queries  the  mystified  husband. 

"  Oh !  your  clerk  told  me  all  about  it  —  how  you'd  been  run 
over  and  knocked  down  into  the  mud  and  had  your  clothes 
torn  and  — why  !  I  declare  you've  the  same  suit  on  you  had 
this  morning." 

Then  follows  an  explanation.  The  woman  cries,  and  the 
man  says  something  more  vigorous  than  polite  about  the  swin- 
dler who  so  cleverly  got  his  spare  suit  of  clothing.  As  they  sit 
down  to  dinner  the  husband  and  wife  conclude  to  make  the 
best  of  it  and  feel  happy  that  the  scoundrel  didn't  take  them 
in  for  more. 


CHAPTEE  XXX. 

THE  BEGGARS  OF  NEW  YORK  — TRAMPS,  CHEATS,  HUMBUGS, 
AND  FRAUDS  — INTERESTING  PERSONAL  EXPERIENCES  — 
VICTIMS  FROM  THE   COUNTRY. 

The  Incomes  of  Professional  Beggars  —  Resorts  of  Tramps  —  Plausible  Tales 

—  A  Scotch  Fraud  —  My  Adventure  with  him  —  A  Plaintive  Appeal  — 
A  Transparent  Yarn  —  A  Disconcerted  Swindler  —  Claiming  Relationship 

—  An  Embarrassing  Position  —  Starting  to  Walk  to  Boston  —  A  Stricken 
Conscience  —  Helping  my  Poor  Relation  —  Thanks  an  Inch  Thick  —  Fe- 
male Frauds  —  ' '  Gentlemen  Tramps  "  —  A  Famishing  Man  —  Eating 
Crusts  out  of  the  Gutter  —  A  Tale  of  Woe  —  A  Fraud  with  a  Crushed  Leg 
and  a  Starving  Family  —  A  Distressing  Case  —  The  Biter  Bitten  —  The 
Calif ornian  with  a  Wooden  Leg  —  The  Rattle-Snake  Dodge  —  "Old 
Aunty  "  and  her  Methods —  "  God  Bless  You,  Deary  "  —  Blind  Frauds  and 
Humbugs  —  How  Countrymen  are  Fleeced  —  Bunco-Steerers  —  Easily 
Taken  in  —  My  Experience  with  a  Bunco-Steerer. 

IT  is  estimated  that  nearly  six  thousand  beggars  live  and 
thrive  in  New  York  city.  It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that 
among  this  vast  number  of  professional  loafers  there  should  be 
found  some  whose  methods  of  extorting  money  are  unique. 
Some  of  them  make  from  twenty-five  to  sixty  dollars  a  week, 
and  not  a  few  of  them  are  so  well  known  as  to  furnish  a  topic 
of  conversation  among  those  who  talk  over  the  strange  life  to 
be  seen  in  city  streets.  The  Charity  Organization  Society  re- 
cently issued  a  circular  warning  the  public  against  professional 
beggars,  adventurers,  and  other  undeserving  persons  who 
obtain  money  by  imposing  upon  the  credulity  of  the  charitable. 
Even  ordinary  street  begging  is  apparently  more  profitable 
than  honest  labor. 

The  great  city  is  a  home  for  a  good  (or  bad)  number  of 
"  tramps  "  and  an  occasional  refuge  for  many  more.  With  the 
advent  of  summer  the  tramp  who  has  passed  the  winter  in  the 
city  hies  to  the  rural  regions.     He  is  in  search  of  occupation 

(584) 


TRAMPS   AND   THEIR  TRICKS. 


585 


which  he  never  finds;  in  summer  he  wants  a  job  at  ice-cutting, 
and  in  winter  lie  desires  work  in  a  hay-field  or  a  market-garden. 
Whatever  employment  lie  seeks  is  sure  to  be  out  of  season,  and 
as  he  is  unable  to  live  by  honest  labor  he  makes  up  for  the  de- 
ficiency by  begging  or  stealing. 


■pss 

J'"'   c  ■  '  ' 


A   TRAMPS   INTERRUPTED   NAP. 

The  winter  occupation  of  the  circulating  or  tourist  tramp  is 
much  like  that  of  the  permanent  city  tramp  whose  suste- 
nance is  obtained  by  begging  or  fraud.  He  haunts  the  side- 
walk, especially  at  night,  and  pours  a  tale  of  woe  into  every  ear 
that  will  listen.  The  ordinary  tale  will  not  be  heard  or  heeded, 
and  his  ingenuity  is  severely  taxed  to  invent  something  that 
will  extract  cash  from  the  pocket  of  his  listener.  Some  of  the 
tramps'  tricks  are  worthy  of  record,  as  they  display  a  genius 
that  would   secure   a    comfortable    existence    in    respectable 


586  A  PERSONAL  ENCOUNTER  WITH  A  FRAUD. 

callings,  and,  not  unlikely,  would  bring  a  fortune  to  its  posses- 
sors. 

About  nine  o'clock  'one  night  I  was  accosted  by  a  man  with 
a  strong  Scotch  accent,  who  asked  if  I  would  kindly  favor  him 
with  a  direction,  as  he  was  a  stranger  in  the  city.  As  I  paused 
to  listen,  he  said, 

"  Can  you  give  me  the  name  of  any  Scotch  benevolent  so- 
ciety ? " 

I  regretted  my  inability  to  do  so,  and  referred  him  to  the 
City  Directory,  which  might  be  consulted  at  any  hotel  or  drug- 
store. 

"  I've  looked  in  the  Directory,  sir,"  he  answered,  "but  can't 
find  it.  There's  the  St.  George's  Society,  but  that  isn't  open  at 
this  hour.  Mr.  Bedall  is  president  of  it,  and  the  office  is  down 
town." 

"  I  can't  give  you  information  as  to  any  other  Scottish  soci- 
ety," said  I ;  "  these  associations  are  things  I  don't  know  much 
about,  and  your  best  plan  will  be  to  ask  at  the  nearest  police 
station." 

"  I've  been  there,"  was  the  prompt  answer,  "  but  cannot 
find  anything  about  them.  I'm  a  glass-engraver  and  landed  in 
New  York  a  week  ago  to-day  from  Glasgow.  I  have  been  look- 
ing for  work  and  am  promised  a  place  day  after  to-morroAV. 
Excuse  my  saying  anything  about  it,  sir,  but  the  fact  is,  I've 
spent  all  my  money  and  want  to  find  a  Scottish  benevolent  so- 
ciety, so  that  I  can  get  lodgings  and  something  to  eat  till  I  find 
work." 

He  didn't  ask  me  for  any  money  or  anything  else,  but  the  ap- 
peal was  very  direct.  Though  contrary  to  a  rule  I  had  long  before 
made  not  to  give  money  to  applicants  on  the  streets,  I  gave  the 
fellow  a  quarter  to  pay  for  his  lodging,  and  as  he  had  eaten 
nothing  —  so  he  said  —  since  morning,  I  accompanied  him  to  a 
neighboring  restaurant  and  gave  another  twenty -five  cents  to 
the  proprietor  to  pay  for  the  stranger's  supper. 

Six  or  eight  months  later  I  was  accosted  by  the  same  man 
in  exactly  the  same  words,  not  more  than  three  or  four  blocks 
from  the  scene  of  my  first  meeting  with  him.     I  led  him  on, 


TRAPPING  A  HUMBUG.  587 

and  he  told  precisely  the  same  story  as  before,  with  the  excep- 
tion that  instead  of  being  a  glass-engraver  he  was  now  a  printer. 
lie  had  even  come  from  Glasgow  "a  week  ago  to-day,"  just  as 
in  the  first  instance. 

k*  How  long  did  you  stay  in  America  when  you  first  came?" 
I  asked,  when  his  story  was  ended. 

"  I  never  was  in  America  before,"  he  answered,  in  a  tone  of 
astonishment.  I  landed  in  New  York  a  week  ago  to-day  for 
the  first  time." 

"  Now,  my  friend,"  said  I,  "  your  yarn  is  altogether  too 
transparent.  Six  months  ago  you  were  a  glass-engraver,  landed 
just  a  week,  seeking  for  work,  out  of  money,  promised  work 
day  after  to-morrow,  and  hunting  a  Scottish  benevolent  society 
to  care  for  you  in  the  meantime.  You  are  the  same  man,  story, 
voice,  Scotch  accent,  size,  height,  dress,  and  everything.  Here, 
officer,"  I  said,  as  I  beckoned  over  his  shoulder  to  an  imaginary 
policeman,  "  run  this  man  in." 

The  fellow  did  not  wait  to  be  "run  in"  by  the  officer;  he 
ran  himself  at  a  speed  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  race- 
horse. And  that  was  the  last  I  ever  saw  of  him.  He  probably 
made  a  mental  photograph  of  me,  so  that  he  should  not  repeat 
his  mistake. 

That  evening  at  the  club  I  told  the  story  of  my  adventure, 
and  how  I  had  been  defrauded  by  this  very  plausible  invention 
of  a  tramp.  Six  members  of  the  club  listened  to  me,  and  when 
I  ended  no  fewer  than  three  of  them  acknowledged  having 
been  defrauded  by  the  same  fellow  within  the  past  month,  and 
two  of  them  only  the  evening  before  and  within  ten  minutes  of 
each  other. 

The  city  man  may  think  he  is  sharper  than  his  cousin  in  the 
country,  but  he  is  just  as  likely  to  be  taken  in.  The  only  differ- 
ence is  that  the  tale  that  will  catch  the  city  man  must  be  more 
elaborately  constructed  than  for  the  rural  districts ;  that's  all. 

Some  years  ago  I  was  called  upon  by  a  man  who  said  his 
surname  was  the  same  as  mine,  and  he  wanted  to  know  if  I 
knew  of  one  Darius  P.  Knox,  a  resident  of  New  York. 

I  confessed  that  I  did  not  know  Darius  and  had  never  heard 


588 


I  MEET   WITH  A  POOR  RELATION. 


of  him.     Then  the  stranger  asked  if  I  was  a  native  of  the  city, 
and,  if  not,  what  State  of  the  Union  I  came  from. 

When  I  told  him  he  said  he  was  from  the  same  State,  but 
from  a  part  of  it  nearly  a  hundred  miles  from  my  birthplace. 
Our  families  must  be  related,  he  thought,  though  perhaps  not 
very  closely. 


EARLY  MORNING   ON   THE   DOCKS.      A   GANG   OF   SLEEPING   TRAMPS. 

I  admitted  the  possibility,  and,  suspecting  that  he  might  be 
after  a  loan  on  account  of  relationship,  I  suggested  that  a  man 
in  the  city  was  not  supposed  to  have  any  relatives  anywhere, 
as  his  life  depended  pretty  much  on  himself. 

He  parried  this  idea  by  explaining  that  he  had  just  come 
from  a  Western  State  where  he  had  been  living  for  twenty 
years.  He  was  on  his  way  to  the  home  of  his  boyhood,  and  the 
Darius  P.  Knox  for  whom  he  asked  was  a  cousin  with  whom 


589 

he  went  to  school,  and  who  came  to  NTew  York  many  years 
ago,  about  the  time  the  speaker  sought  fortune  in  the  West. 

"He  was  a  clerk  in  a  dry -goods  house,  Darius  was."  said  my 
visitor,  "and  has  been  a  partner  in  it  for  ten  or  twelve  years. 
The  last  I  heard  of  him  he  was  in  Worth  Sired.  Number  — , 
but  when  I  went  there  to-day  I  could  not  hear  about  him,  and 
the  store  is  occupied  by  a  new  firm  that  moved  in  last  year. 
The  man  I  saw  said  he  did  not  know  who  the  previous  tenants 
were,  and  he  didn't  care.  I  suppose  that's  the  way  in  a  great 
city  like  this." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  that's  very  much  the  way  of  the  city.  We 
care  very  little  who  are  our  next-door  neighbors  as  long  as  they 
do  not  disturb  us,  and  we  may  live  in  adjoining  houses  for 
years  and  years  and  never  become  acquainted.  Many  a  busi- 
ness firm  doesn't  know  who  were  the  previous  occupants  of 
their  premises,  and  some  don't  wish  to  know." 

When  I  paused  he  referred  again  to  the  Darius  whose  name 
was  not  in  the  Directory ;  he  had  thought  the  best  plan  would 
be  to  look  up  a  few  individuals  of  the  same  surname,  and  thus 
he  might  find  some  one  who  knew  his  missing  relative. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  said  with  a  considerable  show  of  re- 
luctance, "I  stopped  at  Niagara  Falls  and  two  or  three  other 
places  on  my  way  East  and  did  not  count  the  cost  carefully. 
When  I  started  I  had  ample  funds  to  take  me  to  my  old  home, 
but  on  arriving  in  New  York  this  morning  I  found  I  had  only 
a  dollar  left,  and  I  spent  that  for  breakfast  and  dinner.  I 
didn't  feel  uneasy,  as  I  knew  Cousin  Darius  would  let  me  have 
all  the  money  I  needed ;  now  that  I  can't  find  him  I  am  placed 
in  a  most  embarrassing  position  and  hardly  know  what  to  do. 
I  shall  have  to  walk  as  far  as  Boston,  where  my  brother  John 
is  in  the  hardware  business.  Good-bye  ! "  he  said  with  a  per- 
ceptible tremor  in  his  voice. 

"Good-bye,"  I  responded,  and  saw  him  to  the  door. 
"Sorry  to  have  troubled  you,"  he  added,  but  I  won't  trouble 
you  any  longer.  I  can  get  to  New  Kochelle  by  night,  sleep  in 
a  shed  or  barn,  and  make  Boston  in  about  ten  days.  Good-bye 
again." 


590 


A   PERMANENT   INVESTMENT. 


He  was  off,  and  hadn't  asked  for  a  loan  or  even  hinted  at 
anything  of  the  kind.  My  money  burned  in  my  pocket,  and 
whatever  conscience  I  had  rose  in  my  throat.  I  called  back 
my  kinsman,  loaned  him  three  dollars  for  a  deck  passage  by 
steamer  to  Boston  (he  suggested  that  a  deck  passage  was 
all  that  he  needed),  and  I  felt  happier.  He  noted  my  address 
very  carefully  and  said  he  would  remit  the  three  dollars  as  soon 
as  he  met  his  brother  John.   As  for  thanks,  he  covered  me  with 

them  an  inch 
thick,  and  said 
he  would  al- 
ways remem- 
ber me  for  my 
trusting  kind- 
ness. 

Evidently 
he  has  remem- 
bered me:  he 
kept  the  three 
dollars  as  a 
souvenir  to  en- 


A   SLEEPING   TRAMP.      A   BRICK   FOR    A  PILLOW. 


able  him  to  do 
so.  Years  have  elapsed,  but  I  have  never  received  the  money, 
nor  have  I  ever  had  a  scrap  of  paper  acknowledging  it.  But 
I  have  heard  of  the  fellow  a  dozen  —  yes,  twenty  —  times,  and 
each  time  he  has  played  the  same  game  on  some  one  else.  His 
surname  is  always  that  of  his  victim,  Jones,  Smith,  Barney, 
anything  in  fact  that  enables  him  to  suggest  a  relationship  and 
give  an  excuse  for  calling  on  somebody  in  the  hope  of  learning 
the  whereabouts  of  his  long-lost  cousin.  The  story  is  always 
the  same,  and  the  money  requisite  to  get  him  to  his  destina- 
tion is  from  three  to  five  dollars.  He  was  born  in  more  places 
than  the  poet  Homer,  but  unhappily  he  has  not  died  in  any 
of  them. 

The  foregoing  are  samples  of  the  tricks  of  the  male  tramp. 
But  this  kind  of  dishonesty  is  not  confined  to  men ;  women  are 
adepts  in  it,  and  some  of  their  devices  are  ingenuous. 


FEMININE   TRAMPS    AND    FRAUDS. 


591 


An  old  woman  with  a  shabby  genteel  air  used  to  stand  on 
the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Twenty-third  Street  al  their  inter- 
section with  Fifth  Avenue.  "Please  tell  me  how  I  can  get  to 
the  Forty-second  Street  ferry,"  she  would  say  to  a  passer-by. 

The  route  would  be  indicated,  and  the  car  which  would 
carry  her  there  pointed  out.     Then  she  would  timidly  ask: 

"  How  much  is  the  fare  ?" 

"Five  cents,  madam,"  would  be  the  reply. 

"  O  !  ril  have  to  walk ;  I've  lost  my  pocket-book ;  somebody 
must  have  stolen  it." 

The  suggestion  naturally  resulted  in  awakening  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  listener,  who  contributed  the  necessary  five  cents 
and  moved  on.  The  nick- 
el was  dropped  into  a  ca- 
pacious pocket,  and  in 
two  or  three  minutes,  af- 
ter the  victim  was  safely 
out  of  sight,  the  query 
would  be  repeated  and 
another  five  cents  secured 
in  the  same  way.  For 
the  sake  of  variety  she 
changed  her  alleged  des- 
tination at  every  third  or 
fourth  inquiry,  and  for 
some  weeks  she  reaped 
quite    a    harvest.       She 

made  the  mistake  of  accosting  the  same  person  two  days  in 
succession ;  the  police  were  put  on  her  track,  and  she  spent 
a  season  on  Blackwell's  Island  as  the  result  of  her  money- 
making  experiment.  But  as  long  as  she  was  undisturbed  she 
managed  to  earn  three  or  four  dollars  a  day. 

Another  kind  of  feminine  tramp  is  an  Irish  or  German  wo- 
man who  pretends  to  be  unable  to  read,  and  thrusts  a  slip 
of  paper  into  your  hand,  with  a  request  that  you  will  read  the 
address  upon  it  and  tell  her  how  to  reach  it.  The  place  is 
generally  three  or  four  miles  away,  and  when  the  line  of  com- 


DANGEROUS  PLACE  FOR  A  SNOOZE.  A 
TRAMP  SLEEPING  ON  THE  STRING-PIECE 
OF   A   PIER. 


592 


SHABBY-GENTEEL  TRAMPS. 


munication  is  indicated  she  wishes  to  know  how  she  can  go 
there  on  foot,  as  she  is  out  of  money  and  must  walk.  The  sequel 
is  obvious.  I  once  watched  from  behind  a  tree  in  Madison 
Square  a  woman  who  had  an  address  for  Harlem,  five  miles 
away,  and  saw  her  obtain  her  care-fare  —  five  cents  —  four 
times  in  succession  within  twenty  minutes. 


A   GENUINELY   BUSTED   TRAMP 


There  is  another  class  called  "gentlemen  tramps,"  men 
who  were  once  respectable  and  in  good  circumstances,  whose 
downfall  has  been  gradual,  and  who  grow  more  and  more 
seedy  in  appearance  every  year.  Some  of  them  make  a  pre- 
tence of  desiring  work,  and  they  are  always  going  somewhere 
to  answer  an  advertisement  or  to  make  an  inquiry,  but  inci- 
dentally they  are  on  the  outlook  for  alms.  One  of  these  men — 
a  tall  and  rather  military-looking  personage  about  fifty  years 
of  age,  with  a  white  mustache  and  a  head  of  curly  white  hair 


A    DISCRIMINATING    BEGGAR. 


—  has  a  regular  route  over  which  he  has  tramped  and  begged 
for  years.  He  once  filled  a  responsible  position  in  a  famous 
dry-goods  house.  There  is  a  pretence  of  blacking  on  what 
remains  of  his  boots,  and  there  is  an  air  of  ostentatious  but 
fictitious  neatness  in  his  attire.  He  docs  not  approach  people 
promiscuously,  but  singles  out  his  victims  with  great  sagacity 
and  care,  usually  selecting  elderly  ladies,  never  under  any  cir- 
cumstances at- 
tempting to 
beg  from  a 
man.  He 
walks  beside 
his  victim  for 
some  distance 
looks  pitifully 
at  her.  and  at 
last  he  takes 
off  his  hat.  ap- 
proaches hum- 
bly, and  plain- 
tively  pours 
out  his  tale  of 
woe.  His  sto- 
ry is  listened 
to  courteously, 
and  is  so  ef- 
fectively told  that  the  listener  generally  opens  her  purse  and 
contributes  to  the  tramp's*  relief.  His  polite  manifestation  of 
gratitude  is  extreme,  and  he  succeeds  regularly  in  getting  con- 
tributions from  the  same  victims  many  times  over. 

At  one  time  a  fellow  made  a  good  revenue  by  a  shrewd 
trick  of  putting  a  crust  of  bread,  the  core  of  an  apple,  or  some 
similar  dainty  on  the  sidewalk  or  a  doorstep  —  generally  the 
latter  —  on  some  of  the  side  streets  leading  out  of  Fifth  Avenue. 
Then  he  would  go  a  hundred  feet  or  so  along  the  street,  and 
when  he  saw  a  well-dressed  person  of  either  sex  he  walked  just 
a  little  in  advance  with  his  eyes  eagerly  scanning  the  sidewalk 


AN  UNCOMFORTABLE  BED  EVEN  FOR  A  TRAMP. 


594  INGENIOUS  DODGERS  AND  DODGES. 

and  doorsteps.  Suddenly  espying  the  crust  or  apple-core,  he 
rushed  to  secure  it  and  crunched  it  between  his  teeth  with  the 
manner  of  a  man  nearly  famished.  His  movements  were 
sure  to  attract  attention,  and  if  the  spectator  was  at  all  benev- 
olent and  unsuspecting  the  performance  was  sure  to  be  re- 
warded. No  man  or  woman  of  the  least  susceptibility  could 
allow  a  human  being  to  be  so  near  starvation. 

He  kept  the  business  up  for  years ;  of  late  I  have  not  seen 
him  and  presume  he  has  retired  with  a  competence,  the  reward 
of  his  industry  and  genius  combined.  He  always  dressed  in 
clothing  too  small  for  him,  the  trousers  being  fully  two  inches 
too  short  for  his  nether  limbs,  and  the  coat  buttoned  so  closely 
that  it  threatened  to  burst.  The  garments  were  threadbare, 
but  always  clean,  and  altogether  his  make-up  was  well  adapted 
to  his  scheme,  and  his  acting  was  admirable. 

Quite  recently,  when  a  Fulton  Ferry  boat  from  Brooklyn 
had  reached  midstream,  a  tall,  stout  man  who  sat  near  the  door 
in  the  ladies'  cabin  suddenly  arose,  and  began  an  address  in  a 
deep  bass  voice.  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a 
wife  and  children  at  37  Marion  Street,  and  there  has  not  been 
a  morsel  of  bread  in  the  house  for  two  days.  I  am  weak  and 
unable  to  work.  For  five  weeks  I  was  in  Bellevue  Hospital 
with  a  crushed  leg.     You  can  see  for  yourselves." 

The  man  painfully  pulled  up  his  right  trouser  leg  and  ex- 
hibited a  muscular  calf  bound  with  a  new  linen  bandage  from 
the  ankle  to  the  swelling  muscle.  Then  he  painfully  straight- 
ened himself  up  and  drew  his  hands  across  his  moistened  eyes 
several  times,  and  said  with  great  agitation :  "  Any  lady  or  gen- 
tleman who  wants  to  investigate  I  will  give  them  my  name  and 
address." 

His  face  was  seemingly  that  of  an  honest  man.  He  was  un- 
shaven, but  he  did  not  have  a  dissipated  appearance.  His  cloth- 
ing was  old,  worn,  and  faded,  but  not  tattered.  Several  of  the 
passengers  gave  him  money  as  they  passed  out  of  the  cabin. 
A  gentleman  asked  him  what  his  name  was,  "William  H. 
Smith,  sir,"  he  promptly  replied.     "  I  live  at  37  Marion  Street." 

The  gentleman  proceeded  at  once  to  37  Marion  Street.     It 


FRAUDS   OF   THE    WORST    KIND. 


595 


was  a  small,  wooden  house.  A  man  who  said  his  name  was 
Lavery  opened  the  door  and  said  his  was  the  only  family  living 
in  the  house,  and  he  indignantly  denied  all  knowledge  of  any 
destitute  \V.  II.  Smith  in  the  neighborhood.  Unquestionably, 
William  was  an  unmitigated  fraud. 

Another  man  goes  about  from  office  to  office  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  city,  and  in  a  very  hesitating  and  shamefaced  man- 
ner—  his  eyes  glued  to  the  floor  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
time  —  he  con- 
fesses to  having 
been  in  prison 
for  six  months, 
or  possibly  a 
year,  and  has 
just  been  releas- 
ed. The  crime 
for  which  he 
was  sentenced 
was  breaking  a 
baker's  window 
and  stealing  a 
loaf  of  bread  for 
his  children 
when  they  were 
nearly  dying  of 
hunger.  He 
wants  to  lead  a 
better  life,  and 

in  order  to  do  so  he  must  leave  the  city;  he  will  go  to  the 
country  and  find  employment  as  a  farm  hand,  and  in  that  new 
life  he  will  be  able  to  become  an  honest  man,  as  he  will  be  free 
from  temptation.  lie  has  no  money  to  pay  his  fare,  and  meekly 
suggests  that  perhaps  the  listener  knows  some  railway  official 
who  would  give  him  a  pass  to  his  destination,  generally  men- 
tioning some  place  easily  reached  from  Xew  York. 

The  story  is  well  told  and  very  often  succeeds  in  extracting 
a  small  sum,  twenty-five  to  fifty  cents,  from  the  pocket  of  the 


TAKINCx    IT   EASY.       A   TKAMI' S   NOON    IIOT11. 


596  THE   BITER   BITTEN. 

listener.  The  alleged  prison-bird  has  never  been  under  lock 
and  key  at  all,  however  much  he  deserves  to  have  been,  and  his 
narrative  is  altogether  a  pleasing  fiction.  He  does  not  go  to 
the  country,  nor  does  he  intend  to  go  there ;  he  has  found  that 
the  prison  and  reform  story  is  a  very  good  one  for  his  pur- 
pose, and  he  lives  by  it.  On  one  occasion,  however,  he  came 
to  grief,  and  this  was  the  way  of  it : 

He  was  one  day  "working"  an  office  where  there  happened 
to  be  calling  a  gentleman  who  had  heard  his  tale  and  contrib- 
uted to  his  traveling  expenses  two  or  three  days  before.  From 
behind  a  screen  the  visitor  recognized  the  voice  and  the  story 
and  managed  to  hint  to  the  tenant  of  the  office  to  detain  the 
fellow  a  few  minutes.  The  visitor  slipped  out  another  way 
and  soon  returned  with  a  brawny  Irishman  who  was  in  his  em- 
ploy and  was  to  go  that  very  afternoon  to  New  Haven  by  boat. 
On  the  way  back  he  gave  the  Irishman  his  orders ;  on  reaching 
the  presence  of  the  reforming  convict,  who  had  professed  his 
willingness  to  go  anywhere  if  he  could  only  get  a  pass  or  money 
enough  to  buy  a  ticket,  the  gentleman  said : 

"  Pat,  take  this  gentleman  along  with  you  to  New  Haven, 
—  he  wants  to  go  there." 

"  O  !  I  won't  trouble  you,"  said  the  "  gentleman  " ;  "  it  will 
be  too  much  bother  for  you,  and  I  can  go  just  as  well  by 
myself." 

"  No  bother  at  all,"  was  the  reply,  "  on  the  contrary,  it's  a 
great  pleasure.  Take  him  along,  Pat,  or  you'll  be  late  for  your 
boat.  If  he  doesn't  go  quietly,  let  your  boat  go  and  hand  him 
over  to  the  police." 

Pat  obeyed  orders,  and  the  fellow  was  landed  in  New  Haven 
much  against  his  will,  but  he  soon  brought  himself  back  again 
to  New  York.  No  doubt  he  was  homesick  for  the  great  city 
and  its  resources,  but  forever  afterwards  he  shunned  the  vicin- 
ity of  the  office  where  he  fell  into  the  trap  just  described. 

One  of  the  worst  professional  beats  is  the  Californian  with 
the  wooden  leg.  His  costume  usually  consists  of  a  closely -but- 
toned coat  and  trousers  very  wide  at  the  bottom.  A  little 
black  silk  necktie  is  knotted,  sailor-fashion,  in  his  shirt-collar; 


THE    FRAUD   WITH   A   WOODEN    LEG. 


a  soft  hat  with  about  a  three-inch  brim  is  worn  carelessly  on 

his  head;  he  leans  heavily  on  a  cane  and  walks  with  a  decided 
limp. 

Ilf  never  speaks  to  anybody  who  is  not  looking  into  a  store 
window.  Approaching  his  victim  he  says  in  a  soft,  drawling 
voice : 

"Excuse  me,  sir;  but  are  you  a  stranger  in  the  city  ?"  and 
no  matter  what  the  answer  may  be  he  continues:  "I  am  here 
from  California  and  I  have  got  a  wooden  leg,"  —  then  with  his 
cane  he  somewhat 
vigorously  taps  the 
"  wooden "  leg  to 
prove  its  genuine- 
ness, —  "  and  I've 
been  walking  around 
all  night  and  all  day 
on  it  and  haven't  got 
any  money,  and  if 
you  could  loan  me  a 
small  amount  to  en- 
able me  to  obtain  a 
night's  lodging  and 
a  supper  I  shall  be 
greatly  obliged  to 
you.  And  if  you  will 
give  me  your  ad- 
dress, when  my  sister  sends  me  money  I  will  return  it  to  you." 

If  questions  are  asked  he  will  produce  letters  to  prove  his 
identity,  and  then  will  tell  how  he  lost  his  leg  by  being  bitten 
by  a  rattlesnake  in  Nebraska,  on  his  way  east,  and  show  that 
he  came  further  east  to  get  better  surgical  assistance,  and  finally 
lost  almost  all  of  his  limb  and  has  had  hard  luck  ever  since  he 
left  the  hospital.  Although  everything  about  him  indicates 
that  he  is  what  he  claims  to  be,  he  is  a  fraud.  He  has  not  lost 
his  leg  at  all.  A  piece  of  board  tied  to  his  leg  sounds  very 
wooden  when  rapped  with  his  cane.  He  usually  selects  persons 
who  look  like  strangers,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  he  always 


A    TRAMPS   SUNDAY    MORNING    CHANGE. 


598  THE   RATTLESNAKE   DODGE. 

speaks  to  those  who  look  into  store  windows.     He  has  boasted 
of  collecting  five  dollars  a  day. 

The  snake  dodge  seems  to  be  quite  popular.  Not  long  ago 
a  colored  man  was  in  the  habit  of  hobbling  along  Sixth  Ave- 
nue and  Fourteenth  Street  with  a  small  snake  skin  in  one  hand, 
a  cigar-box  to  contain  contributions  in  the  other,  and  a  card  on 
his  breast  containing  the  following  announcement : 

"FRIENDS: 
This  is  a  Rattlesnake  which  had  Caused  Me  to 

Lose  my  Leo. 
I  was  Bit  by  Him  est  the  Dismal  Swamps  of  Vir- 
ginia. 
I  have  Him  Here  on  Exhibition. 
Asking  You  All  for  a  Little  Help  to  Get  an 
Artificial  Leg. 

JOHN  ROE. 

When  taken  into  custody  he  demanded  a  pistol,  that  he 
might  not  survive  the  disgrace  of  his  arrest.  He  said  that  on  los- 
ing his  leg  in  the  manner  mentioned,  his  neighbors  in  Virginia 
raised  money  to  send  him  to  New  York  to  get  a  cork  leg  by 
begging.  He  is  believed  to  have  raised  enough  to  have  bought 
many  legs,  for  the  cigar-box  he  carried  was  full  of  coin  when 
he  was  arrested.  As  he  had  been  repeatedly  warned,  he  was 
sent  to  the  Island  for  three  months. 

Many  business  men  within  a  mile  of  the  Post  Office  are 
familiar  with  "Old  Aunty."  Aunty  believes  that  "it is  better  to 
laugh  than  be  sighing,"  and  so  she  does  not  descend  to  the  com- 
mon whining  tricks  of  the  ordinary  street  beggar.  She  walks 
into  offices,  and  her  queer  little  nutcracker  face  breaks  into  smil- 
ing wrinkles  under  the  frill  of  her  old-fashioned  cap.  She  drops 
a  little  courtesy,  holds  out  her  skinny  hand,  and  says,  "  God  bless 
you,  deary,"  and  when  the  usual  cent  is  forthcoming,  she  closes 
her  withered  fingers  on  it,  wishes  the  giver  many  blessings,  and 
walks  out  to  visit  the  next  man.  Rain  or  shine,  morning  and 
night,  Old  Aunty  walks  around  from  one  office  to  another  and 
collects  toll  everywhere. 

There  are  many  men  who  are  superstitious  enough  to  believe 
that  if  they  meet  Aunty  in  her  old  calico  gown,  her  little  plaid 


OLD    AUNTY    CONNORS. 


599 


shawl,  and  white  cap  early  in  the  day,  give  her  a  penny,  and 
get  in  return  one  of  those  smiles  which  breaks  her  quaint  face 
into  many  scams,  success  will  go  with  them  for  the  balance  of 
the  twenty-four  hours. 

Old  Aunty's  name  is  Connors,  and  she  lives  in  two  rooms  at 
the  top  of  a  tenement-house  in  Rutgers  Street,  and  all  the 
money  she  gets  over  and 
above  that  needed  for  her 
simple  wants  finds  its  way 
across  the  sea  to  the  "  Ould 
Sod,"  and  lightens  the  hard- 
ships of  some  of  her  num- 
berless relatives  there.  How 
much  she  receives  in  a  day 
is  purely  a  matter  of  conjec- 
ture, but  three  or  four  dol- 
lars would  not  be  an  exces- 


A   BLIND   MAN  S   TIN    SIGN. 


(  For  the  other  side  see  illustration  below. ) 


A  blind  man  is  considered  by  nearly  every  one  a  proper  ob- 
ject for  charity,  but  many  of  them  are  frauds  of  the  worst  kind. 
The  tin  signs  hanging  across  their  breasts,  narrating  harrowing 
stories  of  misfortune,  are 
often  gotten  up  for  the  oc- 
casion and  are  sometimes 
painted  on  both  sides,  thus 
giving  the  beggar  two  tales 
to  help  him  along.  He  dis- 
plays the  side  that  he  thinks 
will  prove  the  most  effective 
in  the  locality  he  happens 
to  be  in. 

A  sandy-mustached  blind 
man  who  sings  plaintive  airs  all  over  town  has  his  father  as  a 
confederate.  The  father  loiters  in  a  convenient  saloon  in  the 
neighborhood  while  the  son  sings.  Superintendent  Hebbard  of 
the  Charity  Organization  Society  recently  found  father  and 
son  doing  a  thriving  business  one  Saturday  night,  and  followed 


parau: 

S!NCET  = 

aO^DECEM 


WIIAT   WAS   UN    THE    OTIIEK    BIDE. 


600  FRAUDULENT   BLIND   BEGGARS. 

them,  when,  after  stopping  at  several  saloons  on  the  way  for 
refreshments,  they  took  an  elevated  railway  train  for  their 
home  in  Twenty-fifth  Street.  On  the  way  the  son  counted  the 
contents  of  his  pocket,  and  handing  them  to  his  father,  said : 

"There's  nine  dollars  and  fifty-seven  cents, — pretty  good 
for  one  day's  work,  ain't  it,  popper?" 

The  pair  got  off  at  Twenty -third  Street  and  visited  two  sa- 
loons, where  they  paid  an  old  score  as  well  as  drank.  The  next 
time  he  caught  the  blind  man  he  threatened  him  with  arrest 
unless  he  stopped  begging,  and  cut  short  his  answering  protes- 
tations that  he  was  starving,  by  telling  him  what  he  had  over- 
heard Avhen  he  counted  his  day's  receipts  in  the  elevated  rail- 
way train.  The  impudent  beggar  was  disconcerted  at  this,  and, 
in  a  desire  to  be  funny,  gave  himself  quite  away  by  the  remark : 
"  That  nine  dollars  and  fifty  cents  wasn't  all  I  made.  I  knocked 
down  a  dollar  on  the  old  man." 

The  foregoing  are  only  a  few  examples  of  numerous  frauds 
that  are  often  perpetrated  upon  old  residents  of  the  city ;  there 
are  many  more  whose  special  object  is  the  fleecing  of  country- 
men, either  while  they  are  visiting  the  metropolis  or  by  cor- 
responding with  them.  The  name  of  these  frauds  is  legion, 
and  the  aggregate  amount  of  their  revenues  is  very  great. 

An  old  trick  that  has  been  exposed  in  the  newspapers  time 
and  again,  but  which  is  nevertheless  often  and  successfully 
played,  is  to  accost  the  stranger  as  if  mistaking  him  for  some- 
body else,  and  during  the  conversation  ascertain  his  name,  res- 
idence, and  business.  These  are  quickly  communicated  to  a 
confederate,  who  meets  the  stranger  a  block  or  two  further  on, 
having  kept  him  steadily  in  sight,  and  promptly  " recognizes" 
him.  Perhaps  I  can  best  describe  the  methods  of  this  class  of 
swindlers  who  are  known  as  u  bunco  men"  or  "bunco  steer- 
ers,"  by  giving  my  own  experience  : 

I  returned  to  New  York  one  morning  by  one  of  the  Boston 
boats,  and  was  walking  towards  Broadway  with  satchel  in 
hand,  when  my  hand  was  suddenly  grasped  by  a  man  who  dis- 
played all  the  fervor  of  an  old  friend.  "  How  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Johnson  ? "  said  he,  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 


MY  ADVENTURE   WITH   A   BUNTCO   STEERER.  601 

"You've  made  a  mistake,  sir,"  I  answered;  "my  name 
isn't  Johnson." 

-What!  Isn't  this  Mr.  Johnson,  of  Syracuse,  to  whom  I 
sold  a  bill  of  goods  at  our  house.  Blank,  Blank  &  Company?" 
naming  one  of  the  leading  drv-goods  houses. 

I  assured  him  I  was  not  Mr.  Johnson  at  all,  and  the  fellow 
humbly  begged  a  thousand  pardons,  adding  that  I  resembled 
his  friend  so  closely  that  he  had  made  a  very  natural  mistake 
Then,  eyeing  me  curiously,  as  if  he  could  hardly  believe  I  was 
not  Mr.  Johnson,  he  asked  my  name,  and  I  frankly  told  him  I 
was  Mr.  Wallace  from  Concord,  New  Hampshire,  and  that  I 
was  in  the  hardware  business. 

He  apologized  again  and  went  on,  adding,  before  he  left 
me,  that  Mr.  Johnson  was  a  leading  citizen  of  Syracuse,  and  in 
fact  one  of  the  prominent  men  of  the  western  half  of  the  State 
of  New  York.  I  could  be  proud  to  have  been  mistaken  for 
him,  and  proud  I  certainly  was. 

Before  I  reached  Broadway  another  man  rushed  at  me  with 
the  same  friendly  manner,,  and,  warmly  grasping  my  hand, 
greeted  me  as  Mr.  AVallace  of  Concord,  New  Hampshire.  He 
was  Mr.  Blank  of  the  hardware  house  of  Blank  &  Blank  (a 
leading  one  in  the  city),  and  remembered  my  last  visit.  AVas 
I  satisfied  with  the  goods  I  then  bought  ?  Of  course  I  was, 
and  would  again  honor  the  firm  with  my  patronage.  He  rat- 
tled on  at  a  great  rate,  proposed  that  I  should  breakfast  with 
him  before  going  to  the  hotel,  and  I  accepted. 

Then  he  wanted  me  to  step  down  a  side  street  a  few  steps, 
wouldn't  take  five  minutes,  to  look  at  a  picture  he  had  just 
bought  as  a  present  for  his  aunt.  He  knew  I  had  excellent 
taste  in  art  and  wanted  my  opinion. 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  Broadway,  and  as  I  was  in  a 
hurry  to  get  home  I  brought  the  comedy  to  an  end  by  asking 
if  he  had  happened  to  meet  my  old  friend  Johnson  of  Syra- 
cuse lately.  *  He  did  not  stop  long  enough  to  make  an  answer. 

Had  I  gone  with  the  scoundrel  to  see  the  picture  I  should 
have  found  myself  in  a  pretence  of  a  shop  far  enough  removed 
from  the  street   to   prevent   my   escaping   easily.     Then   my 


602  A  SMOOTH   AND    CRAFTY   VILLAIN. 

money  would  have  been  taken  from  me,  by  apparently  fair 
means  if  possible,  such  as  inducing  me  to  buy  something  that 
was  going  very  cheap,  to  lend  to  my  new-found  friend  or  one 
of  his  confederates,  bet  upon  a  lottery  or  other  game,  or  do 
something  that  would  relieve  them  from  the  charge  of  robbery 
by  violence.  But  if  all  these  methods  had  failed  they  would 
have  risked  the  more  serious  matter  rather  than  let  me  leave 
the  house  unplucked. 

Bunco  men  do  not  confine  their  operations  to  New  York 
city.  They  often  make  tours  throughout  the  country,  visiting 
other  cities  and  plying  their  vocation  at  every  opportunity. 
Many  a  farmer  has  been  victimized  by  them,  and  learned  by 
sad  experience  that  a  bunco  man  is  a  smooth  and  crafty 
villain. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"UP  THE  SPOUT'  —PAWN-BROKERS  AND  THEIR  WAYS  — A 
VISIT  TO  THE  SHOP  OF  "MY  UNCLE"— PERSONAL  EXPE- 
RIENCES. 

"My  Uncle"  —  A  Cold-Blooded  Friendship  —  Royal  Pawners  —  Buried  Treas- 
ure—  A  Sharp  Lot  —  Slang  of  the  Trade  —  Putting  a  Watch  "in  Soak"' — 
The  Three  Gold  Balls  of  the  Pawnbroker's  Sign  —  An  Anxious  Customer 
— A  Cautious  Tradesman  —  How  a  Sharper  Got  the  Better  of  his  "  Uncle  " 
—  The  "Office"  —  A  Heart-Hardening  Trade  —  Making  a  Raise  —  How  I 
Pawned  my  Watch  —  A  Friend  in  Need  —  Simon's  Indignation  —  A  Sud- 
den Fall  in  Values  —  Suspected  of  Knavery  —  Pawning  Stolen  Goods  — 
Police  Regulations  —  Selling  Unredeemed  Pledges — What  the  "  Spout  "  is 
— "  Hanging  Up  " — One  Way  of  Selling  Goods  —  Fraudulent  Pawning  — 
Tales  that  Pledges  Might  Unfold  — From  Affluence  to  the  Potter's  Field- 
Drink  the  Mainspring  of  the  Pawnbroker's  Success. 

IF  the  history  of  every  human  life  could  be  told,  what  surpris- 
ing revelations  would  be  made.  If  a  list  was  published  of 
the  thousands  of  men  and  women  who  have  at  one  time  or 
other  in  their  lives  sought  acquaintance  with  that  interesting 
individual  the  pawnbroker,  sometimes  known  as  "  My  Uncle," 
names  now  high  in  the  social,  political,  and  business  worlds 
would  be  found  in  it,  and  society  would  stand  aghast.  Few 
there  are  who  are  willing  to  admit  the  fact  that  "my  uncle" 
once  stood  to  them  in  the  relation  of  a  "friend"  in  time  of  sore 
distress,  though  it  must  be  confessed  that  his  friendship  was 
purely  cold-blooded  and  measured  solely  by  **  per  shent"  and 
'*  peezeness."  It  is  a  constant  tendency  of  human  nature  to 
kick  over  the  ladder  that  has  helped  us  upward  —  to  ignore  the 
plank  that  has  bridged  a  disagreeable  stream. 

Occasionally  a  person  in  the  high  tide  of  prosperity  is  will- 
ing to  admit  that  the  pawnbroker  once  upon  a  time  rendered 
valuable  assistance  to  him.  A  widely  known  and  prosperous 
actor,  now  blessed  with  an  ample  fortune,  in  writing  the  remi- 

(603) 


604  OLD  FRIENDS   RE-UNITED. 

niscences  of  his  career,  speaks  of  the  first  gold  watch  he  ever 
owned.  It  was  bought  out  of  the  profits  of  a  remarkably  suc- 
cessful tour,  and  it  became  a  valued  friend.  "  But,"  he  says, 
"  friends  must  occasionally  be  separated,  and  there  were  certain 
periods  of  adversity  when  my  watch  and  I  were  compelled  to 
stay  apart.  When  good  times  came  again  we  were  reunited, 
and  our  intimacy  continued  for  many  years." 

Many  a  watch  or  other  valuable  article  of  use  or  luxury  has 
had  a  similar  experience.  Men  whose  lives  are  chequered 
sometimes  provide  themselves,  in  times  of  prosperity,  with 
something  easily  portable  and  of  considerable  value,  for  the 
avowed  purpose  of  "spouting"  when  adversity  overtakes  them. 
Gamblers  are  particularly  addicted  to  this  practice,  and  their 
proneness  to  diamonds,  high-priced  watches,  and  heavy  chains 
is  well  known.  Apart  from  the  question  of  personal  adorn- 
ment these  gentry  have  a  practical  reason  for  thus  investing 
their  "  earnings  "  in  articles  that  may  be  convenient  "  collater- 
als "  whenever  fickle  Fortune  frowns  upon  their  owners. 

History  records  that  even  monarchs  have  pawned  in  their 
day,  and  curious  matters  have  come  therefrom.  Charles  the 
Bold,  when  in  the  Netherlands,  pawned  a  diamond  noted  as 
being  the  largest  in  Europe.  Some  time  afterwards  he  found 
himself  in  funds,  and  sent  a  page  with  money  to  redeem  the 
diamond.  On  his  way  home  with  it  the  page  met  with  the 
misfortune  of  being  murdered;  upon  hearing  which  Charles 
ordered  the  boy's  body  to  be  carefully  preserved  until  he  could 
see  it.  On  his  arrival  at  the  scene  of  the  assassination  Charles 
ordered  the  body  to  be  cut  open,  and  the  diamond  was  found 
securely  hidden  away  in  a  snug  corner  of  the  viscera. 

PaAvnbrokers  are  not  all  Hebrews,  though  the  pawnbroking 
business  is  generally  supposed  to  be  entirely  in  Hebrew  hands. 
But  whatever  they  may  be,  they  are  good  judges  of  values  of 
articles  offered  to  them ;  and  the  man  that  cheats  a  pawn- 
broker must  get  up  very  early  in  the  morning. 

Some  time  ago,  desiring  personal  experience  with  a  pawn- 
broker, I  concluded  that  a  spare  watch  would  be  just  the  thing 
to  put  "  in  soak,"  so  I  proceeded  "  to  make  a  raise "  for  the 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THREE  GOLD  BALLS. 


64 15 


largest  possible  sum  on  the  aforesaid  watch.     On  pawnbroking 

thoughts  intent  I  wended  my  way  to  the  Bowery,  which  can 

boast  of  far  more  "lenders  upon  personal  collaterals"  than 
any  other  part  of  the  city. 
The  familiar  sign  of  three 
gilded  balls  hung  over  the 
door.     Somebody  has  hu- 
morously said   that  these 
balls  mean  "it's  two  to  one 
that  you  never  come  back 
to   redeem   your  pledge.1 
The  fact  is  that  the  thre 
balls    were    the 


he  tnrec  ^  ■§S^>^ll;^i^pI^"5^4iK  - 
armorial  «*£  l^et^^b^blP-mfi.A 
debrated  —  ^^tYmTw?^' 


a  pledges  several  hun-      !  |^B:§  i^BB 
years  ago.     Probably    ^iJllSiySlti^SS 


bearings  of  the  celebr 
family  of   the    Medici    in  Ijj  r^^r^ 
Italy,    who    became    very 
rich  through  lending  mon- 
ey on 
tired  m 

very  f  e  w  paw  nbrokers 
know  the  real  origin,  of  the 
sign  of  their  trade. 

As  I  entered  the  estab- 
lishment a  woman  was  at 
the  c oun t er  an xi ou sly 
watching  every  expression 
that  flitted  across  the  coun- 
tenance of  a  spectacled 
Hebrew  who  was  closely 
examining  some  silver 
spoons  which  appeared  to 
be  very  old  and  were  no 

tloubt  an  heirloom  in  the  woman's  family.  Her  nervous  man- 
ner and  the  pinched  look  on  her  face  showed  plainly  enough 
that  sheer  want  had  driven  her  to  seek  for  a  loan  at  the  pawn- 
broker's, and  she  impatiently  waited  the  estimate  of  the  sharp- 
nosed  man  on  the  other  side  of  the  counter. 


A   TYPICAL   PAWNSHOP 


606  HOW   A  PAWNBROKER  WAS   NEATLY   SWINDLED. 

He  examined  the  spoons  with  great  care,  and  was  appar- 
ently so  absorbed  that  he  seemed  unaware  of  my  entrance.  He 
bent  one  of  the  spoons,  touched  it  with  acid,  weighed  it,  and 
afterwards  weighed  the  entire  dozen,  rang  them  on  the  counter, 
and  did  other  things  that  satisfied  him  of  the  genuineness  of  the 
metal.  One  might  think  that  the  old-fashioned  character  of  the 
spoons  and  the  appearance  of  honest  poverty  of  the  woman  who 
offered  them  would  be  a  sufficient  guarantee  of  their  genuine- 
ness, but  the  pawnbroker  takes  nothing  for  granted. 

Years  ago,  one  of  the  best  known  and  most  successful  pawn- 
brokers in  New  York  was  neatly  swindled  by  a  man  who 
brought  a  magnificent  diamond  ring  on  which  he  wanted  a 
loan.  The  usual  tests  were  applied,  the  diamond  proved  to  be 
genuine,  and  a  loan  was  made  upon  it ;  the  stone  was  a  fine  one, 
worth,  perhaps,  a  thousand  dollars.  The  loan  was  made  about 
the  twentieth  of  the  month,  and  the  man  said  he  would  redeem 
his  pledge  on  the  first  of  the  following  month,  which  he  did. 

On  the  twentieth  he  appeared  again  with  the  ring  and 
wanted  another  loan  till  the  first  of  the  following  month.  The 
tests  were  applied  again,  everything  was  all  right,  and  the  loan 
was  made. 

Month  after  month  the  same  thing  was  done,  and  the  pawn- 
broker at  last  regarded  the  man  as  a  regular  customer  and  a 
very  good  one,  too,  as  he  proved  a  source  of  constant  revenue. 
After  a  while  the  dealer  took  the  ring  without  testing  the 
stone ;  he  had  become  so  familiar  with  its  appearance  and  that 
of  the  customer,  that  he  considered  the  test  unnecessary. 
Finally  the  usual  day  for  redemption  came  around,  but  the  cus- 
tomer did  not  appear. 

On  the  third  day  afterwards  the  pawnbroker  began  to  sus- 
pect that  something  was  wrong.  He  took  out  the  ring  and 
carefully  examined  it.  To  his  utter  dismay  he  found  that 
though  the  setting  was  precisely  the  same,  the  stone  was  a  false 
one,  resembling  in  size,  shape,  and  cutting  the  original  from 
which  it  had  been  faithfully  copied.  The  man  never  came 
again,  and  the  pawnbroker  learned  a  lesson  which  has  never 
been  forgotten  by  him  or  his  descendants. 


A   HETEROGENEOUS   COLLECTION.  G07 

While  waiting  my  turn  I  glanced  around  the  shop.  One 
side  of  the  room  was  occupied  by  a  long  counter.  The  other 
side  was  filled  with  rows  of  shelves  and  pigeon-holes  that  o vet- 
flowed  with  mechanics'  tools,  musical  instruments,  clocks, 
guns,  pistols,  swords,  drums,  boots,  shoes,  work-boxes, —  a  com- 
plete museum.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  room  an  iron  door 
opened  into  a  large  vault  built  entirely  of  iron  and  lit  with 
gas.  Near  it  was  a  small  space  enclosed  by  an  iron  railing, 
and  over  the  door  the  word  "  Office"  was  conspicuously  dis- 
played. Around  the  sides  of  the  vault,  which  could  easily  be 
seen  through  the  railing,  were  small  shallow  drawers,  similar 
to  those  seen  in  a  jeweler's  safe.  In  these  drawers  were  placed 
diamonds  and  other  precious  stones,  set  and  unset ;.  hundreds 
of  watches,  both  gold  and  silver,  on  which  sums  varying  from 
one  dollar  to  one  hundred  dollars  each  had  been  lent.  Other 
drawers  contained  finger-rings,  bracelets,  ear-rings,  and  almost 
every  known  article  of  jewelry  and  personal  adornment,  while 
the  bundles  on  the  floor  consisted  of  silver  cups,  ladles,  forks, 
and  scores  of  dozens  of  silver  spoons. 

Above  was  another  room  in  which  was  stored  all  kinds  of 
furniture  and  clothing  of  every  description.  Here  were  relics 
of  better  days ;  odd  mementoes  of  far-away  lands  beyond  the 
sea ;  articles  of  domestic  use  of  all  sorts  —  sometimes  unmen- 
tionable—  for  all  is  fish  that  comes  to  a  pawnbroker's  net  if 
only  it  have  a  market  value,  or  if  there  is  in  his  opinion  a  rea- 
sonable prospect  of  ultimate  redemption.  Hardly  an  article 
is  offered  upon  which  the  pawnbroker  is  not  begged  to  advance 
more ;  but  his  trade  hardens  him,  and  he  invariably  decides 
in  accordance  with  what  he  considers  his  own  interests.  He 
sees  before  him  all  day  long  and  all  the  year  round  the  im- 
provident, the  reckless,  the  vicious,  and  the  victims  of  unutter- 
able misfortune. 

To  return  to  the  woman  with  the  spoons.  The  pawn- 
broker stated  the  amount  he  was  willing  to  loan  upon  the 
property,  and  though  the  woman  pleaded  hard  for  more  he 
coldly  answered  that  it  was  all  that  he  could  afford.  With  a 
sigh  she  accepted  the  offer,  the  pawn-ticket  was  filled  out,  the 


608  MY   EXPERIENCE   WITH   SIMON   LEVY. 

money  was  carefully  counted  and.  handed  over,  and  the  sad- 
eyed  woman  drew  a  veil  over  her  face  and  walked  out  of  the 
place. 

My  turn  had  come,  and  I  stepped  forward  to  the  counter 
as  the  dealer  looked  with  inquiring  eyes  in  my  direction.  Ex- 
tending his  hand  he  grasped  mine  and  gave  it  a  hearty  shake, 
his  wrinkled  face  wreathed  in  smiles.  It  was  an  old  and  cun- 
ning face,  and  his  shiny  bald  head  seemed  to  make  his  beady 
eyes  unnaturally  bright  as  they  peered  from  under  shaggy 
brows. 

"My  frent,  vot  can  I  do  for  you?"  he  said. 

I  humbly  made  known  my  request,  at  the  same  time  pro- 
ducing my  watch.  He  took  it  in  his  hand,  picked  up  a  strong 
magnifying-glass,  which  he  directed  upon  the  works,  and 
carefully  scanned  the  movement.  Then  he  examined  the  case, 
touched  it  with  acid  by  means  of  a  bottle  with  a  pointed 
stopper  of  glass,  critically  inspected  the  marks  on  the  inside  of 
the  case,  and  said  with  a  deep  sigh, — 

"How  much  you  vant,  eh?" 

"Well,  I  would  like  fifty  dollars." 

"Feefty  tollars,"  he  exclaimed  wildly,  "Vot!  on  dis  ole 
vatch?  My  frent,  vot  for  you  plackguard  me.  I  loan  you 
feefteen  tollars  und  no  more." 

"  But  that  is  a  fine  watch  and  only  three  years  ago  it  cost 
me  two  hundred  and — " 

"  You  tink  I  am  a  fool  alretty,  eh  ?  You  vant  to  sheat  und 
rooin  me,  is  it  ?  I  sells  you  a  petter  vatch  as  dot  for  feefty 
dollars.  You  see  dose  movements,  eh  ?  Look.  Dot  is  an  ole 
vatch  gone  to  pieces  alretty,  und  I  could  not  so  much  as  get 
more  as  forty  tollars  for  dot  same  vatch,  dot  ish  a  fact,"  and 
he  gave  the  watch  a  contemptuous  toss  to  one  side. 

"  Loan  me  thirty,"  I  begged,  with  all  the  pathos  I  could 
muster  in  voice  and  manner,  "  and  I  will  try  and  get  along." 

"  My  frent,  I  vant  to  help  you,  und  I  would  neffer  sheat 
you,  don't  you  pelieve  it,  und  vot  I  tell  you  shall  be  zacred.  I 
tell  you  vot  I  do.  I  gif  you  twenty  tollars,  und  so  sure  as  my 
name  is  Simon  Lew  dot  is  shoost  vot  dot  vatch  is  vorth." 


A   SLY   AND  DISCREET    PAWNBROKER.  609 

"Xo.  I'll  go  somewhere  else,"  I  slowly  said,  with  a  percep- 
tible tremor  in  my  voice  as  I  picked  up  the  watch  and  started 
for  the  door. 

"  Holt  on,  my  front,"  said  Simon,  "holt  on  a  leetle;  don'1  _ 
avav.     I  vill  do  petter  py  von  as  anypody  in  de  peezeness.     I 
haf  been  transacting  peezeness  lor  dese  forty  years.     Look,"  he 

said,  as  he  waved  his  skinny  hand  toward  the  crowded  shelves. 
'•You  see  dose  packages,  from   line   shentlenians  and   la' 
shoost  like  you.  do  you  tink  dey  would  drade  mit  Simon  Levy 
if  he  sheated  '.     I  tell  you  vot  I  do.  and  some  day  you  shall  s 
dot   same  Simon  Levy  vos  indeet   your  frent.     Il-s-h-."     Be 
glanced  around  the  room  to  see  that  no  one  was  within  h< 
ing,  and.  putting  both  hands  to  his  mouth,  and  his  mouth  close 
to  my  ear.  he  said  in  a  confidential  whisper: 

"  You  shall  haf  twenty-live,  but  don't  gif  it  avay."  and  with 
a  patronizing  slap  on  my  back,  he  added,  "mid  remember  dot 
Simon  Levy  is  alvavs  your  frent." 

I  accepted  his  offer,  but  before  closing  the  business  he  asked 
who  I  was  and  how  long  I  had  had  the  watch.  He  did  not 
wish  to  rim  a  chance  of  buying  stolen  property,  and  run  the 
risk  of  losing  it  with  the  amount  he  had  lent  upon  it.  lie  had 
already  studied  me  carefully  and  no  doubt  concluded  that  I 
was  an  honest  mam  :  by  means  of  letters  in  my  pocket  I  was 
able  to  prove  my  identity  and  my  place  of  residence.  He  was 
satisfied,  and  the  transaction  was  soon  completed. 

Among  the  one  hundred  and  ten  licensed  pawnbrokers  in 
Xew  York  city  there  is  a  fair  proportion  who  take  pains  to  pre- 
vent lending  money  upon  stolen  goods.  The  reputable  men  in 
the  trade  will  not  lend  money  to  suspicious  persons,  and  if  any- 
thing is  offered  that  they  have  reason  to  believe  or  suspect  has 
been  stolen,  they  notify  the  police  at  once.  Important  arrests 
have  thus  been  made  through  pawnbrokers,  stolen  goods  recov- 
ered, and  the  thieves  sent  to  prison. 

Police  captains  have  the  legal  right  to  examine  the  books 
of  all  pawnbrokers  when  seeking  to  trace  stolen  property,  and 
if  it  is  found  in  their  possession,  they  must  give  it  up  on  the 
order  of  a  police  magistrate.     Pending  the  trial  of  the  persons 


610  WHAT   THE   LAW   REQUIRES   OF   PAWNBROKERS. 

accused  of  stealing,  the  pawned  articles  are  in  the  custody  of 
the  property-clerk  at  Police  Headquarters ;  if  the  owner  does 
not  prosecute,  or  if  there  is  no  conviction,  the  property  goes 
back  to  the  pawnbroker,  and  the  owner  cannot  recover  it  with- 
out paying  the  amount  of  the  loan  with  interest.  But  if  the 
thief  is  convicted,  and  the  ownership  of  the  property  proven, 
the  pawnbroker  is  "  out "  to  the  amount  of  his  loan  and  all 
charges  upon  it.  Hence  comes  much  of  the  reluctance  of  pawn- 
brokers to  deal  with  suspicious  persons. 

The  pawnbroker  is  forbidden  by  law  to  ask  or  receive  a 
greater  rate  of  interest,  on  amounts  less  than  one  hundred  dol- 
lars, than  three  per  cent,  a  month  for  the  first  six  months  and 
two  per  cent,  for  succeeding  months.  Where  the  amount 
loaned  exceeds  one  hundred  dollars  he  may  receive  only  two 
per  cent,  a  month  for  the  first  six  months  and  one  per  cent, 
monthly  for  succeeding  months.  He  is  required  to  keep  every 
article  not  less  than  one  year  before  selling  it,  and  must  sell 
everything  by  auction,  which  must  be  advertised  in  the  daily 
papers  and  conducted  by  a  licensed  auctioneer.  The  law  for- 
bids him  to  buy  on  his  own  account  articles  that  .have  been 
paAvned  to  him,,  but  this  provision  of  the  law  can  be  —  and  is  — 
evaded  by  his  getting  a  friend  to  make  the  purchase  for  him. 

A  few  days  later  I  went  back  to  the  pawnshop  and  redeemed 
the  watch  I  had  pledged.  I  paid  three  per  cent,  for  the  loan, 
the  law  making  no  account  of  fractions  of  a  month ;  whether 
one  redeems  in  one  day  or  one  month  the  charge  is  the  same, 
and  if  the  time  runs  over  a  single  day  into  the  second  month 
the  charge  is  the  same  as  for  two  months. 

If  I  had  not  redeemed  the  watch,  Simon  would  have  kept 
it  a  year  and  then  sold  it  at  auction ;  and  quite  likely,  as  he  is 
no  doubt  an  honest  man  for  a  pawnbroker,  he  would  have  ob- 
tained seventy -five  dollars  for  it  at  a  fairly  conducted  sale.  He 
would  have  had  his  loan  back  with  interest,  and  much  more 
besides. 

By  a  recent  law  of  the  State  of  New  York  the  surplus  re- 
maining after  the  payment  of  the  loan  and  interest  belongs  to 
the  owner  of  the  goods,  and  not  to  the  lender.     In  practice  it 


PAWNBROKERS'   SLANG.  Oil 

usually  falls  into  the  hands  of  the  lender,  and  stays  there,  as 
the  general  public  is  ignorant  of  the  law.  and   the  broker  d 
not  take  much  trouble  to  hunt   up  his  creditors.     The  law  in 
regard  to  keeping  the  articles  a  full  year  before  selling-  them  is 
very  strict,  though  it  is  sometimes  violated. 

Every  person  carrying  on  the  business  of  a  pawnbroker 
must  pay  five  hundred  dollars  for  a  license,  and  give  bonds  for 
Ten  thousand  dollars  that  he  will  conduct  his  operations  in  con- 
formity with  the  law.  But  there  are  many  men  who  conduct 
a  pawnbroking  business  in  defiance  of  the  law,  or  rather  by  an 
evasion  of  it. 

The  uspout"  exists  in  the  offices  of  most  pawnbrokers,  and 
is  simply  a  spout  or  dumb-waiter  leading  to  an  upper  room 
where  the  pawned  goods  of  bulk  are  stored.  My  watch  did 
not  literally  go  "  up  the  spout,"  but  into  Simon's  safe ;  but  if  I 
had  pawned  my  overcoat  or  suit  of  clothes  I  would  have  seen 
the  bundle  disappear  in  the  dumb-waiter  after  being  duly 
marked  and  labeled. 

Ladies'  dresses  are  "  hung  up,"  as  they  would  be  injured  by 
folding.  Hence  arises  the  slang  term  of  "  hung  up  "  for  an  ar- 
ticle that  has  been  pledged  at  the  pawnbroker's.  In  the  case 
of  articles  that  are  really  and  literally  hung  up  a  small  charge 
is  made  for  the  extra  care  required. 

An  exorbitant  rate  of  interest  is  charged,  probably  because 
the  great  majority  of  loans  are  in  small  sums,  most  of  them 
less  than  five  dollars.  Suppose  one  borrows  two  dollars  on  an 
article  left  with  a  pawnbroker,  and  has  the  use  of  the  money 
for  a  month.  The  dealer  must  issue  a  ticket,  label  the  article, 
and  place  it  where  it  can  be  found  at  a  moment's  notice  when- 
ever the  owner  calls  to  redeem  it,  and  all  the  dealer  gets  for 
his  trouble  and  the  use  of  his  money  is  six  cents  !  And  if  the 
loan  has  been  one  dollar  instead  of  two,  he  has  the  same 
amount  of  trouble,  all  for  three  cents.  If  he  ventures  to  charge 
more,  except  for  a  dress  or  other  things  that  must  be  "  hung 
up  "  as  already  described,  or  for  tar-paper  in  which  to  protect 
woolen  goods  from  moths,  he  is  liable  to  lose  the  license  for 
which  he  has  paid  five  hundred  dollars. 


612  TRICKS   OF   THE   PAWNBROKERS'   TRADE. 

When  it  comes  to  the  loan  of  large  sums,  the  case  is  differ- 
ent, as  the  law  fixes  a  lower  rate  of  interest. 

There  is  a  practice  quite  common  among  small  dealers  in 
jewelry  and  precious  stones,  of  pledging  their  goods  with  pawn- 
brokers and  selling  them  while  thus  deposited.  The  transac- 
tion is  made  by  selling  the  pawn  ticket  and  with  it  an  order  for 
the  delivery  of  the  goods  on  payment  of  the  loan.  In  some  of 
the  daily  papers  almost  any  morning  one  will  see  offers  of 
pawn-tickets  for  watches,  jewelry,  and  the  like,  for  sale.  The 
holder  of  the  ticket  will  probably  ask  about  the  face  value  of 
the  ticket  in  cash ;  as  the  amount  of  the  loan  is  supposed  to  be 
less  than  half  the  value  of  the  goods,  there  is  a  fair  margin  for 
profit  at  this  rate. 

In  transactions  of  this  sort  there  is  danger  of  the  pawn- 
broker being  dishonest,  and  in  a  conspiracy  which  has  cheating 
for  its  object.  The  fellow-conspirator  with  the  pawnbroker 
pledges  jewelry  to  the  nominal  value  of  two  hundred  dollars, 
and  receives  a  pawn-ticket  saying  that  the  amount  of  the  loan 
is  seventy -five  dollars.  He  sells  it  to  me  for  an  advance,  say, 
of  seventy-five  dollars,  and  I  go  to  the  broker's  and  redeem  the 
goods.  They  have  cost  me  altogether  one  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars,  besides  the  interest  on  the  loan. 

When  it  is  too  late  to  help  myself  I  discover  that  the  pre- 
cious metal  is  brass  instead  of  gold,  and  the  jewels  not  genuine. 
If  I  go  to  the  pawnbroker,  he  expresses  great  surprise  and  de- 
nounces the  other  man  for  having  swindled  him,  and  if  I  press 
the  matter,  he  will  quite  likely  accuse  me  of  having  changed 
the  goods  with  an  intention  to  defraud.  I  am  practically  help- 
less, as  I  cannot  prove  any  intentional  deceit  on  the  broker's 
part. 

If  the  articles  in  a  pawn-shop  could  speak,  what  stories  of 
suffering  and  sorrow  they  could  tell.  Hard  times  come  upon 
men  and  women,  and  a  visit  to  the  pawnbroker  often  becomes 
a  necessity  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  or  pay  the  demands 
of  an  inexorable  landlord.  Some  article  that  can  best  be  spared 
is  taken  from  the  scanty  store  and  pledged  with  the  pawn- 
broker, nearly  always  with  a  hope  of  its  speedy  redemption.  It 


A   BUSINESS   SUSTAINED   BY   DRINK. 

may  be  an  heirloom  in  the  family,  or  a  souvenir  of  early  Love, 
or  something  around  which  many  tender  associations  are  clus- 
tered. Teai-s  arc  shed  as  it  disappears  "up  the  spout."  bu1  the 
tears  are  Lessened  by  the  expectation  that  the  cherished  pledge 
will  soon  return  to  its  place.  Alas!  too  often  redemption  is 
impossible,  and  something  else  must  be  pawned  to  avert  starva- 
tion. 

And  so  the  sad  story  goes  on  and  on  till  at  last  there  is 
nothing  left  which  the  pawnbroker  will  receive.  The  end  is 
near;  house,  home,  possessions  are  gone,  and  the  street,  the 
poorhouse,  and  finally  the  pauper's  grave  write  "  Finis "  to 
the  tale. 

That  the  pawn-shop  has  its  legitimate  uses,  and  that  it  has 
been  of  material  service  to  individuals  in  times  of  distress,  can- 
not be  questioned.  The  evil  consists  mainly  in  the  abuses  of 
the  system,  and  our  legislators  have  wisely  sought  to  so  regu- 
late  the  business  as  to  reduce  these  abuses  to  a  minimum,  rather 
than  try  to  suppress  the  pawn-shop  altogether.  The  abuses 
come  partly  from  the  pawnbroker  and  partly  from  his  patrons ; 
it  has  been  shown  how  the  dishonest  pawnbroker  may  serve  as 
a  screen  for  thieves  and  facilitate  crime,  —  a  charge  from  which 
the  honest  and  law-abiding  lender  is  free. 

With  a  great  part  of  the  public  the  pawn-shop  encourages 
improvident  habits  by  making  borrowing  easy,  and  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten  the  way  to  the  dram-house  lies  through  the 
pawnbroker's.  Take  from  the  pawnbroker's  business  all  the 
money  that  his  patrons  spend  for  drink,  and  the  sign  of  the 
three  gilded  balls  would  disappear  from  more  than  half  the 
shops  that  now  display  them,  for  the  simple  reason  that  my 
numerous  "  uncles"  would  be  without  patronage. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

STREET  VENDERS  AND  SIDEWALK  MERCHANTS  — HOW  SKIN 
GAMES  AND  PETTY  SWINDLES  ARE  PLAYED  — "  BEATIN' 
THE   ANGELS  FOR    LYINV 


Dirty  Jake  —  A  Silent  Appeal  —  A  Melancholy  Face  —  Three  Dollars  a  Day 
for  Lungs  and  Tongue  —  Stickfast's  Glue  —  A  Windy  Trade  —  A  Couple 
of  Rogues  —  Spreading  Dismay  and  Consternation  —  Partners  in  Sin  — 
Sly  Confederates  in  the  Crowd  —  How  to  Sell  Kindling-Wood  —  A  Mean 
Trick  and  How  it  is  Played  —  A  Skin  Game  in  Soap  —  Frail  Human 
Nature  — Petty  Swindles  —  Drawing  a  Crowd — "The  Great  Chain- 
Lightnin'  Double-Refined,  Centennial,  Night-Bloomin'  Serious  Soap "  — 
Spoiling  Thirteen  Thousand  Coats  — The  Patent  Grease-Eradicator  — 
Inspiring  Confidence  —  "  Beatin'  the  Angels  for  Lyin'" —  A  Sleight  of 
Hand  Performance  —  "  They  Looks  Well,  an'  They're  Cheap  —  How  City 
Jays  are  Swindled  and  Hayseeds  from  the  Country  Fleeced. 

AN  interesting  feature  of  metropolitan  life  is  the  army  of 
street  venders  of  many  names  and  kinds  to  be  met  on 
every  hand.  A  stroll  along  Broadway  or  the  Bowery  or  in  the 
vicinity  of  City  Hall  brings  to  view  many  of  these  itinerant 
merchants,  who  literally  swarm  in  some  portions  of  the  city 
and  manage  to  make  a  living  out  of  the  public.  And  some  of 
them  make  a  very  good  living  too. 

I  remember  a  peddler  of  pocket-cutlery  who  every  evening 
used  to  haunt  the  corridors  of  hotels,  and  stroll  through  beer- 
saloons,  barrooms,  and  other  places  open  to  the  public.  He 
was  known  as  "  Jake  "  and  was  of  German  origin  ;  sometimes 
he  was  called  "  Dutch  Jake  "  and  sometimes  "  Dirty  Jake,"  — 
the  former  appellation  having  reference  to  his  nationality  and 
the  latter  to  his  personal  appearance.  He  was  very  melancholy 
of  visage ;  he  never  asked  you  to  purchase  his  wares ;  but  the 
silent  appeal  of  his  beseeching  look,  his  unwashed  face  and  un- 
combed hair,  his  sad  physiognomy,  and  his  threadbare  cloth- 
ing, as  he  stood  speechless  in  front  of  a  possible  patron,  and 

(G14) 


"DIRTY    JAKE*'    AND   HIS    WARES.  615 

displayed  a  soiled  roll  of  leather  holding  two  or  three  dozen 
pocket-knives  and  scissors  of  all  sizes  and  kinds,  was  enough  to 
melt  any  heart  not  absolutely  adamantine. 

Many  a  time  Jake  has  unrolled  his  leather  case  beneath  my 
nose  and  held  it  there  without  saying  a  word;  if  I  paid  no  at- 
tention to  him  he  rolled  it  up  in  a  minute  or  so  and  with  a  deep 
sigh  walked  slowly  away.  If  I  showed  an  interest  in  his  mis- 
fortune and  asked  the  price  of  the  knives  there  was  a  gleam  of 
sunshine  across  his  face  that  seemed  to  say  he  was  about  to  be 
saved  from  starvation.  If  I  bought  a  knife  or  a  pair  of  scis- 
sors he  was  somehowr  never  able  to  make  change,  as  he  hadn't 
a  cent  about  him;  when  he  received  his  money  he  thanked  me 
stolidly,  and  the  fervor  with  which  he  grasped  the  coin  con- 
vinced me  that  I  had  performed  an  act  of  real  charity  to  a  de- 
serving man  who  Avas  too  proud  to  beg.  and  had  only  a  slender 
stock  in  trade  with  which  to  support  himself  and  possibly  a 
suffering  family  of  children.  Often  out  of  a  feeling  of  com- 
miseration for  poor  Jake,  my  friends  and  I  have  bought  things 
we  did  not  want,  and  consequently  we  have  more  than  once 
had  an  overstock  of  knives  and  scissors. 

One  day  a  case  came  before  the  courts  in  which  a  supposed 
rich  man,  who  lived  with  his  wife  at  a  fashionable  hotel,  had 
sought  to  defraud  a  money-lender  out  of  several  thousand  dol- 
lars. The  money-lender  proved  to  be  no  other  than  "  Dirty 
Jake"  of  the  sorrowful  countenance  and  threadbare  clothes, 
and  it  transpired  that  he  had  made  a  great  deal  of  money  by 
peddling  knives  and  scissors  in  the  manner  described.  Ilis 
daws  were  devoted  to  negotiating  loans  at  high  rates  of  interest 
and  his  evenings  to  peddling  his  wares  and  securing  customers 
by  his  abject  manner  and  deceptive  appearance  of  great  poverty 
and  utter  despair. 

Jake  is  by  no  means  a  solitary  example  of  the  thriving 
peddlers  who  haunt  the  streets  of  New  York  and  secure  pat- 
ronage through  sympathy.  There  are  beggars  of  all  kinds 
who  solicit  alms  under  very  thin  disguises  of  commerce,  and 
some  of  them  live  in  a  style  often  surpassing  that  of  the  per- 
sons who  contribute  to  their  support. 


616 


BEGGARS   WHO   LIVE   IN   LUXURY. 


On  Fourteenth  Street  there  has  been  on  pleasant  after- 
noons for  many  years  a  gray-bearded  man  who  exhibits  a 
model  of  a  ship  tossing  on  model  waves, —  and  very  poor 
models  of  ship  and  waves  they  are.  On  the  box  that  supports 
the  glass  case  containing  these  nautical  curiosities  is  a  placard 
announcing  that  the  ship  is  "  the  work  of  a  poor  sailor."  The 
inference  is  plain  enough  that  the  "  poor  sailor "  is  the  old, 
gray-bearded,  weather-beaten,  and  nautically  apparelled  man 
in  charge  of  the  exhibit.  A  tin  cup  on  the  box  receives  contri- 
butions, and  many  are  the  pennies  and  nickels  that  find  their 
way  into  it.  It  is  said  that  the  money  thus  received  pays  the 
rent  of  a  comfortable  apartment  in  a  building  in  a  respectable 
quarter,  and  also  supports  a  family  of  three  persons  in  comfort 

and  even  luxury.    Not  a  stroke 
of  work  is  done  by  any  mem- 
ber of  the  family.     The  daily 
receipts  of  the  tin  cup  of  the 
"poor  sailor"  enable 
the   family  to   keep 
two  servants, 
WW///A     and  the  wife 


Wifi     '■  ' 


■  M^:}'  '  and  daughter 
M^JP'^of  the  exhib- 
itor  (who  is 
neither  sailor 
nor  model- 
builder)  are 
good  patrons 
of  fashion- 
able stores. 

Street  merchants  are  more  numerous  in  the  lower  part  of 
the  city  than  in  the  residence  portion,  though  they  are  by  no 
means  unknown  in  any  quarter.  Many  of  them  often  stick 
to  their  trade  from  year  to  year.  One  old  candy  woman  has 
for  years  taken  up  her  quarters  in  close  proximity  to  one  of 
the  public  schools  where  she  patiently  sits  day  after  day,  be- 
neath an  old  umbrella  hung  over  the  fence. 


THE   OLD   CANDY   WOMAN. 


ODD   TRADES   AND    INDUSTRIES. 


617 


The  lowest  grade  of  street  merchants  deal  in  shoe-strings, 
which  they  carry  in  Large  bundles  across  their  arms  or  hung 
by  hundreds  about  their  necks.  Shoe-string  peddlers  are 
mostly  of  Hebrew  origin  and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  they  make 
a  Large  return  for  their  industry,  of  the  same  nationality  are 
the  peddlers  of  combs  and  collar-buttons,  whose  stock  in  trade 
is  carried  in  a  small  basket  or  tray  usually  suspended  by  straps 
passing  around  the  neck.  The  collar- 
button  peddler  is  often  a  rery  conven- 
ient merchant  for  the  ordinary  citizen 
to  encounter;  for  these  little  indispen- 
sable articles  of  personal  use  are  con- 
stantly breaking  or  rolling  out  of  sight, 
and  when  wanted  are  very  much  want- 
ed indeed  ;  and  many  a  man  can  testify 
that  the  collar-button  merchant  has  of- 
ten relieved  embarrassment  of  this  sort 
for  a  very  small  pecuninary  considera- 
tion. 

Side  by  side  with  a  blind  man  who 
sells  pencils  and  is  almost  literally  cov- 
ered with  them,  is  the  vender  of  a  little 
instrument  for  threading  needles,  who 
has  been  over  twenty  years  in  this  bus- 
iness, to  my  knowledge,  and  always  in 
the  region  around  the  Post  Office  and 
City  Hall.  The  best  evidence  that  he  has  made  it  pay  is  the 
fact  that  he  has  spent  nearly  a  lifetime  in  following  his  humble 
occupation. 

Not  far  away  is  a  song-vender,  who  sells  sheets  of  songs  of 
the  most  recent  date.  Iron  fences  in  front  of  churches  or 
elsewhere  are  often  utilized  by  these  sidewalk  music-dealers, 
who  stretch  strings  along  them  on  which  hundreds  of  printed 
songs  are  fastened  by  clothes-pins.  In  the  upper  part  of  the 
city  numerous  Italian  girls  decked  in  raiment  of  many  colors 
carry  small  baskets  full  of  notions  and  trinkets  through  the 
streets  and  look  with  beseeching  eyes  at  every  passer-by. 


PENCILS 


618 


A   STREET   DENTIST  S    METHODS. 


Th,e  tooth-powder  man  is  a  curiosity.  Standing  on  a  street 
corner  he  vociferously  offers  to  polish  free  of  charge  the  teeth 
of  any  boy  who  wishes  to  be  made  dentally  presentable. 
There  is  generally  no  lack  of  candidates,  and  when  one  offers 

himself  as  a  sacrifice  his 
teeth  are  turned  from  black 
or  yellow  to  pearly  white  in 
an  astonishingly  short  time, 
by  using  a  brush  covered 
with  a  white  powder.  The 
tooth-powder  artist  scrubs 
the  teeth  of  his  candidates 
much  as  he  would  polish  a 
boot,  and  without  any  re- 
gard to  the  comfort  of  the 
patient  during  the  operation. 
He  convinces  his  patrons 
that  there  is  nothing  injuri- 
ous in  his  compound  by  tak- 
ing a  spoonful  of  it  in  his 
own  mouth  and  allowing  it 
to  dissolve  there.  Exactly 
what  the  preparation  is,  no  one  can  say  positively  ;  but  that  it 
is  a  powerful  acid  is  very  evident  from  its  prompt  action  in 
removing  discoloration  from  the  teeth. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  class  of  peddlers  are  the  ven- 
ders of  fruits  and  vegetables  in  their  season,  most  of  whom 
have  a  peculiar  way  of  effecting  sales.  A  makeshift  of  a 
wagon  is  loaded  with  oranges,  apples,  strawberries,  melons, 
lemons,  or  any  fruit  or  vegetable  that  happens  to  be  abundant ; 
and  the  driver,  who  must  first  procure  a  license  from  the 
proper  city  authorities,  proceeds  to  patrol  the  cheap  residence 
streets.  Before  doing  so  he  engages  a  "shouter,"  as  he  is  tech- 
nically called,  a  fellow  with  stentorian  lungs,  who  is  capable  of 
making  himself  audible  for  an  incredibly  long  distance. 

While  the  driver  directs  his  animal  —  usually  nothing  but 
skin  and  bones  —  at  a  slow  pace,  the  shouter  proclaims  the 


AN   ITALIAN    NOTION   PEDDLER. 


A    PROFESSIONAL    "  SHOUTER. 


CI  9 


wares  that  are  for  sale.     Sometimes  the  shouter  aids  the  driver 
in  selling  his  goods  and  making  change  while  at  others  he  is 

engaged    for   his    voice    only, 
like  an  opera-singer,  and  dis- 
dains the  manual  or  intellect- 
ual part  of  the  business.    These 
shooters  are  to  be  found  around 
the  markets  and  other  places 
where    the 
fruits  are  ob- 
tained   by 
the  peddlers 
in 


A    FRUIT    VENDER    AND    HIS    "SHOUTER. 


before  starting1  on  their  rounds,  and  their  wages  vary  from 
one  to  two  or  even  three  dollars  a  day,  according  to  length 
of  service  and  power  of  lungs. 

The  shouter  also  exercises  his  abilities  by  selling  "extra" 
editions  of  the  newspapers  in  the  evening.  Half  a  dozen  shout- 
ers,  each  with  a  quantity  of  extras  under  his  arm,  start  up  town 
from  Union  Square  at  seven  or  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and 
make  noise  enough  to  drown  all  other  street  sounds.  All  that 
can    be  distinguished   is:      "Ex-trah!     Ex-trah !      Yere's   ver 


620 


QUEER   WAYS   OF   MAKING   A   LIVING. 


6§~||£> 


extree  evening  paper !  Great  wow-wow-wow-wow ! "  It  is 
impossible  to  guess  what  has  happened,  and  it  is  not  the  shout- 
er's  business  to  let  you  know  until  you  have  bought  the  paper. 
That  something  terrible  has  occurred  is  certain,  and  you  rush 
to  buy  the  extra  containing  the  frightful  intelligence.  You 
open  it  nervously,  and  find  that  the  Clamshells  have  beaten  the 
Lobsters  at  baseball,  or  the  racehorse  Mudlark  has  outrun  his 
rival,  Foghorn,  by  half  a  neck.     The  retreating  f| 

form  of  the  shouter  is  already  far  away. 

There  are  peddlers  who  dispense  cologne 
water  of  a  wretched  quality ;  it  is  water  with  a 
little  odorous  extract  in  it  to  give  a  perfume, 
and  possibly  the  stopper  of 
the  bottle  has  been  dipped 
in  genuine  cologne  to  give  a 
good  smell.  There  are  ped- 
dlers of  court-plaster  and  of 
clothes-hooks;  Italian  boys 
with  pretzels  strung  on  long 
poles ;  and  there  are  several 
corners  where  one  may  find 
men  selling  small  bookcases 
made  by  stringing  three  or 
four  shelves  upon  wires. 
The  shoe-blacking  man  has 
a  section  of  a  freshly-pol- 
ished boot  that  reflects  every 
object  near  it,  and  the  dealer 
in  stove-polish  has  a  piece 
of  iron  that  shines  with  the 
lustre  of  a  newly-cast  piece 
of  bronze.  Near  him  is  a 
man  whose  stock  in  trade  is 

one  of  the  numerous  preparations  for  mending  broken  china, 
and  he  exhibits  a  broken  and  mended  plate  or  saucer  suspended 
in  a  frame,  with  a  weight  of  five  or  ten  pounds  hung  to  the 
lower  half,  to  show  that  the  two  sections  cannot  be  pulled  apart. 


PRETZEL    SELLERS. 


THICK-    OF    -THEET    VENDERS. 


The  "cash  paid  for  rags"  man  maybe  found  throughout 
the  tenement-house  districts,  though  he  is  by  no  means  unknown 
in  more  fashionable  Localities.  He  is  a  formidable  rival  of  the 
shouter  in  strength  of  Lungs. 

The  dealer  in  toy  balloons  is  not  far  away  ;  the  balloons  are 
from  six  to  twelve  inches  in  diameter  and  inflated  with  _ 
Occasionally  a  reckless  fellow  who  is  apparently  willing  to  be 
amused   at  the   expense  of  the   peddler 
(generally  an  Italian  i  slips  up  behind  him 


'CASH    PAID    FOB    RAGS. 

and  slyly  cuts  the  strings  of  the  balloons.  Away  they  soar 
heavenward,  and  the  frantic  sufferer  fills  the  air  with  bitter 
laments  and  impious  imprecations.  A  crowd  quickly  assembles, 
and  the  sympathetic  spectators  show  their  pity  for  the  unfor- 
tunate Italian  by  contributing  a  sufficient  amount  of  money 
to  pay  for  his  lost  stock  in  trade,  and  very  often  they  leave 
him  something  more.  The  excitement  is  soon  over,  and  the 
grateful  balloon-merchant  leaves  ostensibly  to  buy  new  stock. 
If  we  follow  him  closely  for  a  few  minutes  we  shall  quite  likely 
find  him  around  the  corner,  chatting  familiarly  and  dividing 
the  proceeds  with  the  man  who  cut  the  strings;  and  only 
then  do  we  realize  that  the  whole  affair  was  a  "  put-up  job." 
So.  too,  is  the  trick  of  the  dealer  in  plaster  images,  whose 
stand  is  upset  by  a  drunken  ruffian  who  staggers  away  quite 
oblivious  of  the  ruin  he  has  wrought,  to  the  great  dismav  and 


622 


THE   KINDLING-WOOD   SWINDLE. 


consternation  of  the  poor  dealer  in  works  of  art.  The  ruffian 
and  dealer  are  in  partnership,  and  this  method  of  disposing  of 
the  frail  plaster  is  quicker  and  far  more  lucrative  than  the  old 
way  of   selling  it  piece  by  piece  to  legitimate  purchasers. 

Another  trick  of  street  trade  is  often  successfully  carried  out 
by  street  dealers  in  kindling-wood.  The  time  chosen  for  its 
execution  is  usually  early  evening,  and  a  side  street  up  town  is 
the  place  generally  selected.  Paterfamilias — who  possibly 
has  just  finished  dinner — hears  a  tremendous  shouting  in  the 
street  in  front  of  his  house,  and  rushes  to  the  window  to  see 
what  dreadful  thing  has  happened. 

Two  men  with  a  load  of  kindling-wood  in  a  wagon  are  in 
the  middle  of  the  street.  Their  horse  has  fallen  to  the  ground 
and  is  evidently  unable  to  rise.  The  men  hold  a  solemn  consul- 
tation, and  then  one  of  them  approaches  the  house  slowly  and 
timidly  rings  the  bell.  He  explains  that  he  and  his  friend  had 
a  load  of  kindling-wood  to  deliver  in  the  next  street,  for  which 
they  were  to  collect  two  dollars.  The  horse  is  old  and  very 
weak  and  was  suddenly  taken  sick ;  he  cannot  possibly  draw 
the  load,  and  if  they  succeed  in  getting  him  to  his  feet  they 
will  be  fortunate  if  they  can  induce  him  to  pull  an  empty 
wagon.  As  for  the  loaded  one,  it  is  quite  beyond  his  strength. 
Under  these  circumstances  Paterfamilias  is  asked  to  buy  the 
kindling-wood  as  an  act  of  charity  for  a  suffering  animal  and  a 
perplexed  driver,  so  that  the  men  can  return  to  their  employer 
with  the  money.  To  assure  Paterfamilias  of  the  correctness  of 
this  plausible  story,  a  bill  for  the  kindling-wood  is  shown,  and 
his  careful  attention  is  called  to  the  words  "  Collect  $2.00." 

So  he  buys  the  wood,  though  he  did  not  really  want  it ;  he 
has  storage-room  in  his  cellar,  and  the  wood  is  speedily  dumped 
through  the  coal-hole  in  the  sidewalk.  When  he  looks  at  the 
wood  next  morning,  he  finds  that  it  would  have  been  dear  at  half 
the  price  paid  for  it.  He  soberly  mentions  the  circumstance 
to  a  friend,  who  consoles  him  by  laughing  at  the  way  he  has 
been  taken  in  by  "  the  kindling-wood  trick."  Yes,  it  is  a  mel- 
ancholy fact  that  he  was  the  victim  of  the  worst  and  meanest 
kind  of  a  swindle,  because  it  was  perpetrated  in  the  name  of 


Ti:  LPS   FOR  THE    QNWARY 


G23 


kindness  to  men  or  animals,  or  both.  It  may  be  a  slight  con- 
solation to  Paterfamilias  to  know  that  many  another  old  resi- 
dent lias  suffered  by  the  same  fraud. 

Another  swindler  who  plays  upon  the  cupidity  of  mankind, 
rather  than  upon  their  good  nature,  is  the  man  who  offers  to 


iil.,TtTrmT^i*1IP 


MAKING    A   CAREFUL    SELECTION.       SCENE    AT    A    SIDEWALK    MARKET. 


sell  four  boxes  of  soap  for  a  dollar  each.  To  convince  specta- 
tors that  the  purchase  will  be  a  profitable  one.  he  actually  puts 
a  ten-dollar  bill  in  one  box,  a  five-dollar  bill  in  the  second,  and 
a  two-dollar  bill  in  the  third.  In  the  fourth  box  there  is  noth- 
ing but  the  cake  of  soap,  and  very  poor  soap  at  that. 

Xow  he  tells  his  listeners  that  for  one  dollar  they  can  draw 
any  one  of  the  boxes;  whereupon,  after  some  hesitation,  a  man 
who  is  apparently  a  stranger,  but  who  is  in  reality  a  confeder- 
ate, steps  forward,  pays  his  dollar,  and  of  course  he  draws  one 
of  the  boxes  containing  money,  either  two  or  five  dollars.    The 


624 


SKIN   GAMES   AND   THEIR   VICTIMS. 


other  money  boxes  remain,  and  also  the  blank  one.  Confidence 
is  soon  inspired  in  the  crowd  of  onlookers ;  and  an  unsuspecting 
and  bona  fide  purchaser,  who  has  all  the  time  closely  watched 
the  proceedings  and  is  quite  certain  that  he  has  a  "  sure  thing," 
now  tries  his  hand.     But  somehow  he  always  finds  a  blank  in 


IBll    » 


A   FAVORITE   PLACE   FOR   STREET   CHILDREN.       "COLD   SODA   WATER   2   CENTS- 
ICE   CREAM   1    CENT." 

his  box,  and  should  he  draw  a  score  of  times  in  succession,  his 
luck  will  always  be  the  same.  It  is  a  "  skin  "  game  successfully 
executed  by  a  skillful  performance  of  sleight-of-hand,  aided  by 
confederates  who  do  everything  in  their  power  to  confuse  the 
unlucky  buyer. 

The  man  who  dispenses  soda  water  at  two  cents  a  glass  and 
ice  cream  at  one  cent  a  plate  is  sure  of  liberal  patronage  from 
gamins  and  newsboys,  a  crowd  of  whom  may  generally  be 
found  about  the  vender's  stand. 


SHARP    AND    WILY    TRICKSTERS.  625 

The  street  peddler  not  far  off,  who  deals  in  figs  and  dates, 
and  who  is  equipped  with  a  handcart  and  a  large  stock  of  tempt- 
ing fruit,  is  evidently  a  facetious  fellow,  for  he  has  labeled 
one  of  his  packages  with  the  words,  "Latest  Dates  from  Con 
stantinople."     He  is  waggish,  but  he  nevertheless  has  a  won 


CURBSTONE   DRY-GOODS    MERCHANTS. 


derfully  sharp  eve  for  business,  and  abundance  of  nerve,  too. 
As  one  stands  a  dozen  yards  away  he  reads  on  a  placard,  "  Only 
15  Cents  A  Pound/'  The  unsuspecting  customer,  tempted  by 
the  quality  of  the  fruit  and  the  low  price,  approaches  nearer 
and  buys  a  pound,  for  which  he  is  charged  thirty  cents  instead 
of  fifteen.  Indignantly  he  calls  the  dealer's  attention  to  the 
mistake,  and  by  way  of  emphasizing  his  remarks  he  points  to 
the  placard  on  which  the  price  is  stated.  Alas !  A  close  in- 
spection reveals  the  figures  "i"  immediately  following  the  cap- 
ital A.  The  letters  and  figures  forming  the  placard,  as  first 
read,  are  fully  three  inches  in  height,  while  the  "  J "  is  not  over 
half  an  inch,  and  is  never  noticed  by  the  hasty  purchaser. 


626  HOW  PEOPLE  ARE  HUMBUGGED. 

Sidewalk  venders  of  cheap  clothing  and  dry-goods  abound 
in  the  lower  part  of  the  city.  Some  of  them  do  a  legitimate 
business,  though  as  a  rule  the  curbstone  merchant  will  bear 
watching. 

The  street  vender  has  a  good  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
and  very  often  he  does  not  hold  his  fellow-men  in  high  esteem. 
Some  people  think  he  relies  upon  the  stranger  for  the  most  of 
his  patronage,  but  if  you  talk  with  one  of  them,  after  getting 
into  his  confidence,  he  will  very  likely  tell  you  such  is  not  the 
case. 

"The  city's  full  of  muffs,"  said  one  of  these  fellows  recently 
when  I  "interviewed"  him.  "Talk  about  the  hayseeds  from 
the  country ! "  he  continued ;  "  the  city  jay  is  the  readiest  of 
'em  all  to  be  gulled.  There's  men  standin'  round  on  every 
corner,  or  passin'  along  by  here  every  minute,  just  waitin'  for 
somebody  like  me  to  come  along  and  sell  'em  anything.  Nobody 
need  starve  in  New  York  if  he's  got  any  grit  about  him,  I  can 
tell  you  that.     Let  me  tell  you  what  I  did. 

"  One  day  last  week  I  went  in  to  play  policy  just  for  the  fun 
of  the  thing,  you  know,  and  when  I  come  out  of  the  place,  kind 
of  dazed  like,  I  had  just  twenty  cents  left ;  everything  else  was 
gone,  and  I  wondered  for  a  minute  what  on  earth  I'd  do. 
It  didn't  take  me  more'n  a  minute,  though,  to  make  up  my 
mind. 

"  I  went  into  the  fust  grocery  I  come  across  and  bought  two 
cakes  of  common  laundry  soap  and  three  cents  worth  of  blue 
tissue  paper.  I  borrowed  a  knife  and  cut  up  my  soap  into  thin 
slices,  and  wrapped  each  slice  up  nice  and  tidy-like,  as  though 
it  had  been  done  in  a  big  shop.  Then  I  went  down  on  the 
Bowery  jest  as  men  were  comin'  out  for  their  hour  at  noon, 
and  grabbed  hold  of  the  fust  one  I  see  with  grease  on  his  coat- 
collar,  and  I  didn't  have  to  wait  long  to  find  him,  you  bet.  I 
told  him  I'd  clean  his  coat  up  nice  for  nothin'  if  he'd  only  give 
me  five  minutes.  Well,  sir,  before  the  five  minutes  was  up  I 
had  a  big  crowd  around  me,  and  I  did  his  coat  up  so's  you 
couldn't  see  a  bit  of  grease  on  it ;  'twas  jest  as  clean  as  though 
it  had  come  spick  and  span  new  from  the  tailor's.    Perhaps 


CONFESSIONS   OF  A   SWINDLER.  627 

you  don't  know,  but  you  can  wet  a  grease-spot  and  it  won't 
show  for  two  hours  or  so ;  only  if  you  give  it  time  to  dry  it'll 
be  out  again  about  as  plain  as  ever. 

-  When  I  got  the  feller's  coat  fixed  all  right  I  turned  to  the 
crowd,  and  says,  says  I, — 

"Here  yer  are,gentSj  yer  see  what  the  great  chain-lightnin', 
double-refined,  centennial,  night-bloomin' serious  soap  will  do. 
Invented  by  a  Frenchman  who  spent  twenty  years  findin'  out 
what  it  ought  to  be  made  of,  and  spoiled  thirteen  thousand 
coats  before  he  hit  it  exactly  right.  A  British  syndicate's  been 
after  the  secret  and  offered  him  ten  thousand  pounds  cash 
down  and  no  back  talk  for  the  rights  for  New  York  city,  but 
he  refused  it,  and  him  and  me's  in  partnership  for  two  years, 
and  nobody  else  hasn't  any-  right  to  sell  it. 

"  Here  yer  are,  the  great  patent  grease-eradicator,  make  a 
coat  or  carpet  as  good  as  new,  and  all  in  five  minutes  with  a 
twist  of  your  wrist  that  anybody  as  only  to  try  to  find  out  he 
can  do  it.  Only  twenty-five  cents  a  cake,  gents,  and  will  save 
you  five  dollars  in  bavin'  your  clothes  cleaned  and  made  good 
as  new,  no  matter  if  they's  a  dozen  years  old. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  kept  right  on  talkin'  in  that  style,  sayin'  any- 
thing that  come  into  my  head  and  jest  beatin'  the  angels  for 
lyin'.  In  less  than  half  an  hour  I'd  sold  out  my  whole  stock  and 
made  eight  dollars  and  a  half,  and  back  I  went  to  the  grocery 
and  got  more  soap,  and  was  sellin'  it  like  hot  cakes  when  a  cop 
took  me  up  fur  sellin'  without  a  license.  I  let  him  start  off  with 
me,  and  a  big  crowd  a  follerin',  and  then  I  hauled  my  license 
on  him  and  he  let  me  go.  I've  worked  the  soap  racket  pretty 
well  out  jest  now,  and  I  am  goin'  into  the  cheap  pocket  book 
and  pencil  line.  The  pocketbooks  look  fust-rate  and  they  sells 
well,  and  d'yer  know  why?" 

I  acknowledged  my  ignorance  and  asked  to  be  enlightened. 

"They  look  well  and  they're  cheap,  and  that's  what  catches 
the  gulls,"  said  the  vender.  "I  tell  you  everybody  likes  to  be 
humbugged,  though  there  ain't  many  as1!!  acknowledge  it." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

GAMBLERS  AND  GAMBLING  —  A  MIDNIGHT  VISIT  TO  GAMBLING- 
HOUSES  OF  HIGH  AND  LOW  DEGREE  — A  GLIMPSE  BEHIND 

THE  SCENES. 

A  Flourishing  Evil  —  A  Night  Visit  to  a  Fashionable  Gambling-House  —  How 
Entrance  is  Gained  —  "All  Right,  Charley" — Magnificent  Midnight  Sup- 
pers —  Midnight  Scenes  —  Who  Pays  the  Bills  ?  —  A  Secret  Understanding 
—  One  Hundred  and  Eighteen  Thousand  Dollars  Lost  in  Eight  Hours  — 
Dissipating  a  Fortune  —  Buried  in  a  Pauper's  Grave — "Square"  Games 
and  ' '  Skin  "  Games  —  Fleecing  a  Victim  at  Faro  —  How  it  is  Done  — Inge- 
nuity of  Sharpers  —  Drugged  and  Robbed  —  "  Dead  Men  Tell  no  Tales"  — 
A  Tale  that  the  Rivers  Might  Unfold  —  A  Club-House  with  Unknown 
Members  —  The  Downfall  of  Hundreds  of  Young  Men  —  Why  Employers 
are  Robbed  —  An  Interesting  Photograph  —  A  "  Full  Night  "  — Gambling- 
Houses  for  Boys  —  Confidence  Men  —  "  Sleepers  "  —  Low  Gambling- 
Houses  —  "  Lookouts  "  —  "  Every  Man  for  Himself  "  —  Enormous  Sums 
Lost. 

I  1ST  spite  of  all  the  laws  that  have  been  made  against  it,  gam- 
bling in  various  forms  continues  to  flourish  in  the  great  city. 

Gambling-houses  are  of  all  grades,  from  the  high  class  and 
costly  establishments  in  the  neighborhood  of  Madison  Square 
down  to  the  low-class  houses  of  the  Bowery  and  Water  Street. 
Most  of  them  are  only  open  during  the  evening,  but  there  are 
some  which  are  known  as  "day  houses,"  where  Fortune  can  be 
tempted  at  almost  any  hour. 

Closely  connected  with  and  well  known  to  the  profession  is 
a  "  roper-in,"  "  capper,"  or  "  steerer,"  whose  vocation  is  to 
bring  business  to  the  gambling-houses.  He  is  always  well 
dressed  and  constantly  on  the  watch  for  non-residents  who  wish 
to  "  see  the  sights  "  in  the  metropolis,  and  the  gambols  of  the 
"tiger"  are  one  phase  of  life  in  which  many  strangers  manifest 
uncommon  interest.  The  "capper"  expects,  and  will  receive, 
a  liberal  commission  on  all  money  dropped  by  visitors  under 
his  guidance  in  whatever  place  is  entered. 

6  ^  (628) 


A  NIGHT.  VISIT  TO   A   GAMBLING    HOUSE.  629 

Before  starting  out,  the  capper  generally  suggests  a  round 
of  drinks,  and  leads  the  way  to  a  fashionable  barroom ;  he  al- 
ways insists  upon  paying  the  bill,  for  while  he  is  ostensibly 

doing  his  companion  a  great  service  in  spending  his  time  in 
showing  him  the  sights,  it  is  a  part  of  his  business  to  appear 
liberal.  Besides,  he  intends  to  be  paid  in  the  end  out  of  his 
visitor's  pocket. 

The  gambling-house  does  not  pay  all  these  incidental  ex- 
penses. If  the  visitor  fails  to  lose  any  money  at  the  gaming- 
tables, the  capper  has  spent  his  time  and  money  to  no  purpose. 
But  the  principle  of  general  average  comes  in  here  very  well ; 
what  he  loses  on  a  bad  customer  he  makes  up  on  a  good  one, 
as  his  commission  is  usually  large.  He  may  spend  live  dollars 
in  showing  a  visitor  about  to-night  and  get  nothing  in  return, 
but  perhaps  to-morrow  he  will  find  a  victim  who  drops  several 
hundreds  or  thousands  of  dollars  at  roulette  or  faro,  of  which 
the  capper  will  receive  from  twenty  to  forty  per  cent. 

Arrived  at  the  door  of  a  fashionable  gambling-house  with  a 
visitor  under  his  care,  the  capper  rings  the  bell.  A  little  wicket 
is  opened,  and  the  party  is  inspected  by  a  man  inside,  gene- 
rally a  negro  in  faultless  evening  dress,  who  has  been  a  long 
time  in  the  service  of  the  place  and  knows  the  faces  of  all  its 
frequenters.  The  capper  says.  "  All  right.  Charley,"  and  is  at 
once  recognized.  The  wicket  closes,  the  heavy  door  silently 
swings  open,  and  the  party  is  admitted. 

Generally  the  play-room  is  up  one  flight  of  stairs,  though  it 
is  sometimes  on  the  parlor  floor.  Wherever  it  is,  the  capper 
leads  the  way,  nods  familiarly  to  several  of  the  habitues  of  the 
place,  and  introduces  the  visitor,  who  is  thus  ensured  a  cordial 
reception.  The  proprietor  invites  him  to  "take  something"  at 
a  sideboard  which  is  equipped  with  the  choicest  liquors  in  the 
market  and  the  choicest  cigars  as  well.  It  is  a  matter  of  com- 
mon notoriety  that  the  very  best  liquors  that  money  can  buy 
are  those  which  are  served  free  of  charge  to  the  patrons  of 
these  high-class  gambling-houses. 

A  visitor  can  drink,  smoke,  look  on,  stroll  about  the  hand- 
somely furnished  rooms,  do  whatever  he  likes,  and  is  never 


630  IN  THE  GAMBLER'S   TOILS. 

urged  to  play.  But  if  he  shows  a  desire  to  do  so  he  is  readily 
accommodated,  and  his  friend  the  capper  will  often  set  the  ex- 
ample by  taking  a  hand  in  the  game  "just  for  fun."  "Whether 
the  capper  wins  or  loses  it  makes  no  difference  to  his  pockets, 
as  his  own  winnings  are  secretly  returned  to  the  proprietor, 
and  his  losses,  if  any,  are  as  secretly  made  up  to  him. 

About  midnight  there  is  a  pause  for  supper,  which  is 
always  an  elegant  and  sometimes  an  elaborate  repast  served 
hot  and  comprised  of  all  the  delicacies  in  the  market.  The 
supper  is  free  to  everybody  in  the  house,  and  so  are  the  fine 
wines  that  are  served  with  it.  The  visitor  enjoys  the  supper 
and  wonders  how  the  managers  can  afford  to  give  away  so 
much  every  night,  especially  as  everything  is  of  the  best. 

If  the  visitor  did  not  leave  his  conscience  at  his  hotel,  it 
begins  to  prick  him  a  little  as  he  rises  from  the  supper-table, 
and  he  is  very  apt  to  say  to  himself,  "  I  must  certainly  play  a 
little,  for  I  don't  like  to  sneak  out  without  showing  my  appre- 
ciation of  this  elegant  hospitality.  If  I  drop  five  or  ten  dol- 
lars, no  matter;  it  will  no  more  than  pay  for  my  supper." 

The  visitor  sits  down  at  the  roulette  or  faro  table  with  that 
object  in  view.  He  feels  kindly  towards  all  the  world,  and 
especially  to  the  gentlemanly  gamblers  who  have  entertained 
him  so  handsomely  with  never  a  hint  that  he  should  patronize 
the  game.  He  is  warmed  with  the  wine,  at  peace  with  the 
whole  human  race,  and  in  exactly  the  mood  that  the  gambler 
desires  him  to  be. 

He  begins  to  play.  To  his  pleasure,  and  somewhat  to  his 
surprise,  instead  of  losing  he  wins  steadily  and  soon  has  made 
a  handsome  sum.  Of  course  he  doesn't  want  to  carry  away 
the  money  of  his  host, —  that  would  be  an  abuse  of  good  treat- 
ment not  to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment.  So  he  risks  it  again 
and  again,  and  at  last  becomes  wholly  absorbed  in  the  game. 
After  a  time  his  luck  changes,  and  he  loses  as  rapidly  and 
steadily  as  he  won  before.  If  he  rises  from  the  table  a  loser 
only  of  the  five  or  ten  dollars  he  was  willing  to  give  for  his 
supper,  he  is  far  more  fortunate  than  the  great  majority  of  play- 
ers.    The  chances  are  even  that  he  will  lose  fifty,  a  hundred, 


HOW   i-nki  tJNES  ai;i:   LOST.  631 

perhaps  two  or  three  hundred  dollars  if  he  happens  to  have 
that  amount  in  his  possession,  and  then  he  will  probably  be 
able  to  understand  why  the  proprietors  can  Bpread  Bueh  a  mag- 
nificent free  supper  with  its  choice  wines  and  liquors,  and  still 
make  money. 

Should  a  visitor  partake  too  freely  of  wine  and  become 
troublesome,  he  is  quietly  ejected,  and  the  doorkeeper  has 
orders  to  refuse  him  admittance  in  future.  There  is  nothing 
so  much  abhorred  by  the  high-class  gambler  as  a  "row,"  and 
a  gambling-house  such  as  J  have  described  could  give  lessons 
in  good  behavior  to  many  a  man  who  considers  himself  alto- 
gether too  respectable  to  be  seen  in  its  neighborhood.  Decor- 
ous politene>s  prevails  throughout  the  whole  establishment  ; 
there  may  be  free  conversation,  which  is  generally  carried  on 
in  subdued  tones  among  those  not  in  the  games,  but  it  is 
an  unwritten  law  that  the  players  shall  not  be  in  the  least 
disturbed. 

Enormous  stakes  have  been  played  for  in  some  of  these 
gambling-houses,  and  sometimes  the  winnings  of  an  establish- 
ment have  been  fifty  or  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  a  single 
night.  But  this  is  only  a  very  rare  occurrence  and  only  hap- 
pens when  a  young  millionaire  —  or  perhaps  an  old  one  — is  en- 
joying the  lavish  hospitality  of  the  house  and  loses  his  balance 
through  taking  too  much  wine.  Some  years  ago  a  man  lost 
one  hundred  and  eighteen  thousand  dollars  in  two  sittings  of 
about  four  hours  each.  He  had  recently  come  into  possession 
of  a  large  fortune,  which  he  managed  to  lose  in  less  than  a  year 
after  receiving  it.  Ultimately  he  became  a  capper  for  the  very 
house  where  the  bulk  of  his  money  was  lost,  but  his  dissipated 
habits  prevented  his  success  even  at  this  kind  of  business,  and 
he  died  in  a  garret  on  the  east  side  of  the  city  and  was  buried 
at  public  expense  in  a  pauper's  grave. 

All  the  high-class  establishments  conduct  what  they  call  a 
"  square "  game ;  that  is,  no  advantage  is  taken  of  the  player 
by  means  of  apparatus,  marked  cards,  unfair  dealing,  and  the 
like.  The  player  has  against  him  the  ordinary  percentages  of 
the  game,  which  all  may  know  about,  and  the  still  greater  per- 


632  GAMBLERS  WHO   CHEAT  AND  DEFRAUD. 

centage  of  the  tendency  of  human  nature  to  be  fascinated  by 
the  turns  of  the  wheel  of  Fortune,  and  continue  to  play  after 
losing  heavily,  in  the  hope  of  retrieving  losses. 

Dishonest  modes  of  playing  are  known  as  "skin"  games. 
The  "  square  "  gamblers  look  down  upon  these  flayers  with  un- 
disguised contempt  and  hold  no  relation  with  them,  as  least 
ostensibly. 

An  intoxicated  man  is  more  satisfactory  prey  for  the  "  skin- 
ners" than  a  sober  one,  and  the  rules  that  govern  the  fashiona- 
ble houses  do  not  prevail  in  those  of  lower  grade.  Even  a  sober 
man  who  enters  one  of  these  low  concerns  is  generally  unable 
to  detect  the  fraud  practiced  upon  him ;  and  sometimes  so  skill- 
fully is  he  swindled  that  he  will  defend  with  the  greatest  vehe- 
mence any  assertion  that  he  was  unfairly  deprived  of  his  money. 

The  fleecing  or  "  skinning  "  is  done  in  various  ways.  If  the 
game  is  faro,  the  cards  are  dealt  from  a  metal  box  with  their 
faces  uppermost,  while  the  bets  are  placed  upon  the  "lay-out," 
a  painted  cloth  on  which  all  the  faces  of  the  cards  are  repre- 
sented. 

The  dishonest  dealer  at  faro  has  a  box  so  arranged  that  he 
can  remove  two  cards  at  once,  and  the  cards  are  sufficiently 
transparent  to  enable  him  to  know  the  character  of  the  second 
card  from  the  top.  The  "  case-keeper,"  who  keeps  the  tally  of 
the  cards  as  they  come  from  the  box,  sits  near  the  dealer  and  is 
in  league  with  him,  so  that  when  all  the  cards  have  been  dealt, 
the  record  will  be  correct.  The  fraud  consists  in  removing  two 
cards  instead  of  one  whenever  it  is  to  the  advantage  of  the  house 
to  do  so. 

Roulette  is  played  with  a  wheel — whence  its  name — which 
whirls  in  a  wooden  basin  in  the  center  of  the  table  where  the 
game  is  played.  When  the  wheel  is  started  in  one  direction,  a 
small  marble  or  ivory  ball  is  sent  flying  around  the  interior  of 
the  basin  in  the  opposite  course,  and  it  is  kept  at  the  outer  edge 
for  three  or  four  minutes  by  centrifugal  force.  Gradually  its 
speed  diminishes  and  so  does  that  of  the  wheel,  and  finally  the 
ball  drops  into  one  of  thirty-eight  compartments  at  the  edge  of 
the  wheel.     A  painted  lay-out  on  the  table  receives  the  bets  of 


GAMBLER'S  HIDDEN  APPARATl  -.  C33 

the  players,  which  are  made  while  wheel  and  ball  are  in  motion. 
A  man  may  bet  on  a  single  number,  and  if  Ik1  wins,  la1  receives 

his  stake  hack  and  thirty-live  times  as  much  ;  if  on  two  numbers 
and  one  of  them  wins,  he  receives  eighteen  times  his  stake,  and 
soon.  There  are  thirty-six  numbers  and  two  zero  compart- 
ments, and  the  advantages  of  the  bank  are  when  the  hall  falls 
into  either  the  single  or  the  double  zero.  Half  the  compart- 
ments are  odd  and  half  even,  and  they  are  also  divided  between 
red  and  black.  A  player  may  bet  on  an  odd  or  an  even  num- 
ber, and  also  on  the  winning  color. 

Honestly  played,  roulette  is  purely  a  game  of  chance,  with 
the  advantages  of  bank  and  player  exactly  the  same  with  the 
exception  of  the  zeros  already  mentioned.  But  the  dealer  of 
the  "skin"  game  at  roulette  has  a  very  delicate  apparatus 
worked  by  line  wires  under  the  table  by  which  he  can  direct 
the  course  of  the  ball  into  any  compartment  desired.  If  the 
majority  of  the  bets  are  on  black,  he  can  drop  the  ball  into 
the  red  or  via  >',  rsa,  and  it  is  needless  to  say  that  he  always 
manipulates  the  apparatus  in  favor  of  the  bank.  At  various 
times  the  police  have  captured  gambling  apparatus  that  was 
skillfully  constructed  for  the  deception  of  the  wary  as  well  as 
of  the  unsuspecting. 

In  one  instance  it  was  found  that  the  manipulation  of  the 
wheel  for  purposes  of  dishonesty  was  controlled  by  a  man  who 
was  on  the  floor  above  and  could  survey  the  table  below  him 
through  a  stucco  ornament  in  the  ceiling.  The  dealer  started 
the  ball  and  wheel,  and  then  innocently  held  his  hands  upon 
the  table  as  a  guarantee  to  any  suspecting  person  that  he  was 
not  working  the  wires.  But  they  were  worked  all  the  same, 
and  very  successfully,  too. 

Electricity  has  been  made  to  play  an  important  part  in 
managing  the  roulette  wheel  in  the  interest  of  the  proprietors 
of  the  game.  To  convince  patrons  that  everything  is  honestly 
conducted,  the  wheel  and  the  bowl  containing  it  are  supported 
on  legs  resting  in  the  center  of  the  table,  and  before  the  game 
begins  the  wheel  is  lifted  in  order  that  the  most  skeptical  may 
be  convinced  that  there  are  no  wires  to  be  operated  from  below 


634  DRUGGED,    ROBBED,   AND  ABANDONED. 

or  above.  "When  every  spectator  is  satisfied,  the  wheel  is  re- 
placed exactly  where  it  stood  before,  and  business  goes  on.  The 
places  where  the  legs  are  to  rest  are  indicated  by  spots  on  the 
green  cloth  with  which  the  table  is  usually  covered,  or  what 
appear  to  be  nothing  more  than  depressions  in  the  cloth,  caused 
by  the  weight  of  the  apparatus. 

The  fact  is  that  there  is  a  metallic  connection  through  these 
spots  by  means  of  fine  points  of  copper  or  steel,  invisible  to 
the  naked  eye,  and  when  the  wheel  is  restored  to  its  former 
position  the  points  come  in  contact  with  the  feet,  which  are 
also  metallic.  By  the  skillful  manipulation  of  electric  keys, 
performed  on  the  floor  above,  or  by  a  spectator  at  the  end  or 
side  of  the  table,  the  little  ball  can  be  directed  into  the  black 
or  red  compartments  at  will,  or  made  to  avoid  numbers  on 
which  the  heaviest  bets  have  been  placed. 

In  all  gambling  places  of  the  lower  grades  it  is  a  rule  of 
the  establishment  not  to  allow  a  man  to  leave  until  he  has 
parted  with  his  money,  with  the  possible  exception  of  a  few 
dollars  to  enable  him  to  leave  the  city  and  so  get  out  of  the 
way  of  complaining.  If  he  is  too  wary  to  risk  all  at  the 
table,  he  is  plied  with  liquor,  and  the  liquor  is  generally 
drugged  so  that  it  will  speedily  accomplish  its  work.  If  this 
does  not  induce  him  to  be  reckless  in  his  play  the  drugging  is 
continued  until  he  is  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  and  then  his 
pockets  are  rifled  of  everything  valuable. 

The  next  step  is  to  be  rid  of  his  company.  A  carriage  is 
called,  and  he  is  led  or  carried  to  it  by  two  men  who  represent 
to  the  driver  that  their  friend  has  taken  a  drop  too  much  and 
they  are  taking  him  home.  The  carriage  is  not  called  to  the 
door  of  the  house,  but  waits  on  the  corner  or  perhaps  a  full 
block  away,  in  order  that,  in  case  of  unpleasant  results,  the 
driver  cannot  testify  that  he  took  the  man  in  at  any  particular 
house. 

The  carriage  is  driven  to  a  secluded  street  and  halted  on  a 
corner.  The  driver  is  paid  off  and  dismissed,  and  after  he  goes 
away  the  victim  is  deposited  on  a  doorstep  and  left  there. 
Sometimes  he  comes  to  himself  after  a  time,  but  more  often  he 


G35 

is  arrested  by  the  police.  In  either  case  he  is  unable  to  tell 
how  he  happened  to  be  in  that  street  and  on  that  particular 
doorstep;  the  last  that  he  remembers  is  that  he  was  in  a  gam- 
bling-house, but  as  he  was  taken  there  by  a  "  friend"  he  can- 
not say  where  it  was.  If  he  is  brought  before  a  police  justice 
in  the  morning  it  is  quite  likely  that  he  will  get  ten  days  or  a 
longer  period  on  Black  well's  Island  in  default  of  being  able  to 
pay  his  fine. 

But  every  victim  of  the  gambler  does  not  escape  with  a 
short  imprisonment.  The  motto  that  "dead  men  tell  no  tales" 
is  not  unknown  to  the  gambling  fraternity,  and  if  the  water 
that  surrounds  Manhattan  Island  could  speak  it  could  make 
revelations  that  would  fill  every  reader  with  horror.  Every 
year  there  are  dozens  of  "mysterious  disappearances,"  and 
every  year  there  are  scores  of  unrecognized  and  unclaimed 
bodies  found  floating  in  the  harbor.  If  all  these  could  be 
traced  to  their  origin  it  is  pretty  certain  that  the  majority  of 
the  mysterious  disappearances  and  drownings  would  prove  to 
have  been  the  work  of  the  gambling-houses.  It  is  a  little  more 
difficult  and  a  little  more  risky  to  throw  a  man  into  the  harbor 
than  to  leave  him  on  a  doorstep  in  a  drunken  debauch,  but 
when  a  victim  has  been  robbed  of  so  much  money  that  he  is 
liable  to  make  trouble  about  it  the  risk  is  sometimes  considered 
worth, taking  by  these  desperate  men. 

A  form  of  gambling  that  depended  upon  publicity  for  its 
profit  was  formerly  very  prominent  in  Xew  York ;  in  fact,  it 
became  so  prominent  as  to  attract  general  attention  to  its  ne- 
farious character  under  the  guise  of  fairness,  and  was  suppressed 
by  law  in  consequence.  This  is  what  is  known  as  "  pool-sell- 
ing," a  system  of  mutual  betting  on  the  result  of  any  forth- 
coming event,  a  horse-race,  a  yacht-race,  base-ball  match,  a 
municipal,  state,  or  national  election,  —  in  fact,  any  kind  of 
event  to  occur  in  the  near  future. 

The  seller  of  the  pools  occupies  the  position  of  a  banker ;  he 
receives  the  money  of  any  or  all  comers  who  wish  to  purchase 
tickets,  and  as  soon  as  the  result  of  the  contest  has  been  de- 
clared he  pays  over  the  money  to  the  winners  after  deducting 


636  OPEN  DOORS   TO   RUIN. 

his  commission,  which  is  always  a  liberal  one.  Nobody  objects 
to  the  liberality  of  the  commission :  the  loser  doesn't  care,  as 
he  will  get  nothing  back  in  any  event ;  and  the  winner  is  satis- 
fied with  the  returns  upon  his  investment  and  looks  upon  the 
dealer  as  a  liberal  gentleman. 

Before  the  pool-rooms  were  suppressed  they  were  always 
thronged  on  the  evenings  previous  to  important  races  or  elec- 
tions, and  thousands  of  dollars  were  paid  for  tickets.  Men  and 
boys  joined  in  the  excitement  of  the  occasion,  and  the  ranges 
of  the  pools  were  such  that  sums  as  low  as  a  dollar  or  even  less 
could  be  staked  upon  a  race  or  an  election.  It  was  found  that 
many  boys  were  tempted  to  rob  their  employers  in  order  to 
buy  tickets  in  the  pools  or  to  make  up  their  losses  after  finding 
that  they  were  unsuccessful.  But  the  law  finally  laid  its  heavy 
hand  on  this  nefarious  business,  and  though  still  carried  on  in 
some  localities  it  is  only  to  a  small  extent. 

A  recent  investigation  shows  that  there  are  more  than  fifty 
regular  gambling-houses  in  the  city,  not  counting  the  policy- 
shops  and  kindred  establishments.  One  of  the  oldest  and  most 
aristocratic  is  the  one  that  was  run  by  the  late  John  Morrissey ; 
it  is  close  to  a  church  on  Broadway  and  has  good  surroundings, 
and  though  the  occupants  of  the  neighboring  buildings  have 
tried  hard  to  cause  it  to  be  closed  they  have  been  unable  to  do 
so.  It  is  open  only  at  night,  and  is  run  in  connection  with  a 
day  gambling-house  within  pistol-shot  of  the  corner  of  Broad- 
way and  Ann  Street.  One  of  the  difficulties  in  prosecuting  the 
managers  of  the  place  is  to  ascertain  their  names ;  the  place  is 
called  a  club-house,  and  to  all  inquiries  as  to  who  its  members 
are  the  parties  addressed  return  the  invariable  answer,  "  I  don't 
know." 

The  games  played  at  both  these  houses  are  principally  faro 
and  roulette,  though  any  one  who  wants  a  hand  at  poker  can 
generally  be  accommodated.  If  a  citizen  makes  a  complaint 
and  the  police  come  to  make  a  raid  in  consequence,  the  faro  and 
roulette  tables  suspend  operations  the  moment  the  warning 
sound  is  heard  from  the  man  at  the  peep-hole  in  the  outer  door, 
who  is  always  on  the  .alert.     By  the  time  the  police  can  reach 


BUCKING   THE  TIGER. 

the  gaming  rooms,  they  are  deserted  and  the  lights  are  low, 
while  the  people  in  the  house  are  found  seated  at  the  card-tables 
on  the  second  floor,  indulging  in  quiet  games  of  poker.     The 

members  of  a  elub  may  play  poker  to  their  hearts'  content  ; 
and  as  this  is  a  club,  and  nothing  that  the  law  calls  gambling  is 
going  on  there,  the  police  have  no  chance  for  arrests. 

The  proprietors  of  this  gambling-house  and  those  of  another 
fashionable  resort  of  the  same  kind  on  Twenty-ninth  Street 
have  several  times  been  defendants  in  suits  to  recover  money 
lost  at  their  tables.  Two  or  three  suits  of  this  kind  are  now  in 
the  courts,  one  of  them  for  eighty  thousand  dollars  which  was 
lost  there  by  the  cashier  of  a  large  business  house.  Another 
suit  is  by  a  woman  who  had  entrusted  her  husband  with  six 
thousand  dollars  in  bonds  which  he  was  to  sell  on  her  account. 
He  sold  the  bonds  and  then  took  the  money  to  the  gambling- 
house,  where  he  expected  to  win  a  large  amount  and  be  able  to 
have  a  nice  allowance  for  himself  after  giving  his  wife  what 
belonged  to  her.  It  was  the  old  story,  and  the  wonder  is  that 
he  came  away  with  six  hundred  dollars  in  his  possession,  having 
lost  five  thousand  four  hundred. 

The  great  majority  of  these  suits  are  compromised  where 
compromise  is  possible,  and  the  gamblers  find  they  are  hope- 
lesslv  within  the  clutches  of  the  law.  But  they  fight  as  long 
as  they  possibly  can  and  employ  some  of  the  ablest  lawyers  for 
their  defense,  as  they  can  well  afford  to  pay  large  fees. 

The  majority  of  the  patrons  of  the  gambling-houses  are 
men  under  forty  years  of  age,  and  very  many  of  them  are  be- 
tween twenty  and  thirty.  Now  and  then  a  gray-haired  veteran 
can  be  seen  trying  his  luck  with  the  tiger,  but  it  is  the  excep- 
tion rather  than  the  rule ;  men  of  mature  years  have  either 
learned  caution  and  ceased  to  play  at  the  fickle  games,  or  been 
''cleaned  out"  long  ago  and  have  nothing  left  with  which  to 
play.  Hundreds  of  young  men  in  Xew  York  can  trace  their 
downfall  to  the  gambling-tables,  and  within  the  past  ten  years 
there  have  been  more  than  fifty  defalcations  of  trusted  em- 
ployees on  this  account.  If  a  photograph  of  the  party  at  play 
on  a  "full  night"  at  any  of  the  fashionable  houses  could  be 


638  THE  BECKONING  HAND  OF  SATAN. 

taken  about  eleven  o'clock  or  a  little  later,  and  displayed  in  a 
public  place,  it  would  create  a  sensation,  as  there  would  be  a 
goodly  proportion  of  faces  that  are  well  known  in  political  and 
business  circles,  and  other  faces  whose  exposure  would  cause 
speedy  vacancies  in  banking  and  other  commercial  houses. 

Boys  are  not  admitted  at  these  fashionable  places,  but  there 
are  gambling  resorts  on  Sixth  Avenue  and  in  its  neighborhood, 
where  youths  are  enticed  by  the  prospect  of  winning  the  money 
of  the  keepers  of  the  game,  and  may  freely  enter.  Most  of 
these  places  are  in  the  rear  of  cheap  cigar  stores  or  other  estab- 
lishments of  an  apparently  legitimate  character.  One  place  is 
ostensibly  an  express  office,  but  if  you  should  wish  to  leave  an 
order  for  the  transport  of  your  trunk  or  any  other  express 
work,  you  will  be  told  that  the  expressman  has  been  laid  up 
two  or  three  days  with  the  "  grippe,"  his  horse  has  gone  lame, 
his  wagon  has  broken  down,  or  something  else  has  happened 
that  will  prevent  his  doing  the  desired  service. 

At  these  games  checks  or  "chips"  are  sold  at  varying 
prices  according  to  their  colors,  the  lowest  prices  being  five 
cents  each  ;  they  are  generally  sold  in  stacks  of  twenty  chips, 
so  that  a  patron  can  take  a  hand  in  the  game  if  his  entire 
possessions  amount  to  only  one  dollar.  The  patrons  of  these 
houses  are  mostly  young  clerks,  boys  employed  in  offices,  shops, 
or  working  at  trades.  Occasionally  a  newsboy  or  boot-black 
who  has  been  driving  a  good  trade  ventures  inside  and  risks 
his  hard-earned  wages. 

There  is  always  a  crowd  of  confidence  men  about,  and 
if  by  a  run  of  fortune  in  his  favor  a  patron  manages  to  win 
a  few  dollars  and  starts  to  leave,  he  is  immediately  beset  by 
these  fellows,  who  try  to  entice  him  to  visit  other  houses 
in  the  neighborhood  in  the  promise  of  winning  more.  So 
earnestly  do  they  press  their  arguments,  and  so  flushed  is 
the  young  gambler  with  hope,  that  they  generally  succeed. 
And  so  it  usually  happens  that  not  one  young  man  in  ten  who 
goes  into  this  locality  to  win  his  fortune  at  the  gaming-tables 
reaches  home  with  a  penny  in  his  possession. 

These  low  gambling-houses  are  frequented  by  men  who  are 


LOW   GAMBLING  DENS.  G39 

technically  known  as  "sleepers."  They  have  no  money  to  play 
with,  but  they  are  allowed  to  sit  at  the  tables,  and  whenever  a 
patron  is  careless  about  picking  up  his  winnings  these  fellows 
step  forward  and  claim  the  stake.  If  the  owner  objects,  the 
thieves  show  a  great  deal  of  assurance,  and  it  generally  hap- 
pens that  the  young  man  submits  to  their  demands  rather  than 
have  a  fight.  In  the  best  class  of  gambling-houses  this  kind  of 
stealing  is  not  allowed,  as  there  are  "  Lookouts"  whose  business 
it  is  to  see  that  no  bet  is  wrongfully  appropriated,  but  in  the 
cheap  houses  the  rule  is  "every  man  for  himself."  The  sleep- 
ers are  tolerated  there  for  the  reason  that  whenever  they  have 
money,  no  matter  how  obtained,  they  generally  drop  the  most 
of  it  at  the  gambling-tables. 

" Playing  policy"  is  a  cheap  way  of  gambling,  but  one  on 
which  hundreds  if  not  thousands  of  dollars  are  risked  every 
day  in  New  York.  Sums  as  low  as  three  cents  can  be  risked 
upon  it,  and  there  are  policy-shops  where  bets  of  one  cent  are 
taken. 

The  play  is  upon  numbers  which  are  drawn  daily,  usually 
in  Kentucky  or  Louisiana,  and  sent  by  telegraph.  The  num- 
bers are  from  1  to  78 ;  the  room  where  the  game  is  played 
is,  like  those  of  other  cheap  gambling-dens,  usually  at  the  rear 
of  a  cigar-store,  barroom,  or  other  place  where  it  does  not 
rouse  suspicion  if  many  persons  are  seen  entering.  A  long 
counter  extends  the  entire  length  of  the  room,  and  behind  this 
counter,  near  its  center,  sits  the  man  who  keeps  the  game  and 
is  called  the  "  writer."  He  is  not  the  proprietor,  but  simply  a 
clerk  on  a  salary,  and  his  duties  are  to  copy  the  slips  handed 
up  by  the  players,  mark  them  with  the  amount  of  money  paid, 
and  watch  to  see  that  no  fraud  is  practiced. 

There  are  twenty-five  plays  every  morning  and  the  same 
number  in  the  evening  at  the  regular  shops,  and  they  all  get 
their  winning  numbers  from  a  central  office  in  Broad  Street. 
Near  the  "  writer  "  is  an  iron  spike  or  hook  on  which  are  the 
policy  slips ;  each  slip  contains  the  winning  numbers  and  is 
placed  faced  downwards  so  that  nobody  can  see  what  it  is. 
Let  us  now  see  how  the  scheme  is  worked. 


640  A  DANGEROUS  PASTIME. 

I  am  about  to  try  my  luck  at  policy,  and  for  this  purpose 
enter  a  shop  and  pass  through  to  the  rear.  If  there  are  ten 
people  in  the  room  it  is  an  even  chance  that  three  or  four  of 
them  will  be  negroes,  as  the  colored  brethren  are  very  fond  of 
this  game  of  chance.  The  assemblage  is  promiscuous  and  not 
at  all  select. 

Along  the  counter  are  numerous  slips  of  paper  for  general 
use.  I  take  one  of  the  slips  and  write  upon  it  five  pairs  of 
numbers,  using  any  numbers  from  1  to  78.  I  give  this  slip  to 
the  "  writer,"  with  fifteen  cents,  and  say, 

"  Put  me  in  for  five  gigs  at  three  cents." 

Two  numbers  are  called  a  "  saddle  "  and  three  numbers  a 
"gig."  There  are  numerous  combinations  in  the  game,  but 
"gigs  "  and  "saddles"  are  the  most  popular.  I  wait  until  the 
other  players  have  put  in  their  bets,  which  the  "  writer " 
copies  and  records  and  then  hands  back  to  the  players, 
just  as  he  copies  and  returns  mine.  When  all  the  bets  are  in 
he  takes  the  first  policy  slip  from  the  spike  or  hook  aforesaid, 
writes  upon  a  slate  the  numbers  he  finds  on  the  slip  and  then 
hangs  it  up  where  everybody  can  see  it.  He  writes  them  in 
two  columns  of  twelve  numbers  each,  and  if  I  have  guessed 
two  of  the  numbers  in  either  column  in  one  of  my  gigs,  I 
walk  up  to  the  counter  and  present  my  ticket  for  payment,  re- 
ceiving ten  times  the  amount  of  my  wager. 

But  a  man  stands  as  good  a  chance  of  being  struck  by 
lightning  as  he  does  of  winning  at  this  rate.  Nevertheless  the 
game  is  full  of  seductiveness  on  account  of  its  possibilities  and 
also  on  account  of  its  cheapness.  Some  of  the  shops  have  tele- 
phone connections,  and  a  customer  who  is  known  to  the  estab- 
lishment can  play  policy  without  leaving  his  office,  by  simply 
telephoning  his  guesses.  That  a  large  amount  of  money  may 
be  lost  at  policy  is  shown  by  the  circumstance  that  quite  re- 
cently the  cashier  of  an  important  law  firm  in  New  York  city 
embezzled  $125,000  of  the  money  of  his  employers.  When  the 
defalcation  was  discovered  and  investigated  it  was  found  that 
this  enormous  sum  had  been  spent  in  playing  policy  in  a  noto- 
rious shop  on  Broadway. 


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PORTRAYED  BY 
NsPECTORTHDMAS  BYRNES, 


CHIEF  Of  THE  NEYVYORK  DETECTIVES. 


(641) 


M'vt- 


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PART   III. 


Chief  of  tht  New  York  Detective  Bureau. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

LOW  LODGING-HOUSES  OF  NEW  YORK- PLACES  THAT  FOSTER 
CRIME  AXD  HARBOR  CRIMINALS  —  DENS  OF  THIEVES. 

The  Breeding-Places  of  Crime  —  Dens  of  Thieves  —  How  Boys  and  Young 
M  en  from  the  Country  are  Lured  to  Ruin  —  From  the  Lodging-House  to 
the  Gallows  —  A  Night's  Lodging  for  Three  Cents  —  Low.  Dirty,  and 
Troublesome  Places — Hotbeds  of  Crime — Leaves  from  my  own  Experience 

—  Illustrative    Cases  —  A  Forger's    Crime   and    its   Results  — A   Unique 
Photograph  —  The  Pride  of  a  Bowery  Tough — "Holding  up"  a  Victim 

—  The  Importation  of  Foreign  Criminals  —  A  Human  Ghoul  —  How  Ex- 
Convicts  Drift  back  into  Crime  —  The  Descent  into  the  Pit  —  Black  Sheep. 

IT  is  undeniable  that  the  cheap  lodging-houses  of  New  York 
city  have  a  powerful  tendency  to  produce,  foster,  and 
increase  crime.  Instead  of  being  places  where  decent  people 
reduced  in  circumstances  or  temporarily  distressed  for  want  of 
money  can  obtain  a  clean  bed  for  a  small  sum,  these  places  are 
generally  filthy  beyond  description,  and  are  very  largely  the 
resorts  of  thieves  and  other  criminals  of  the  lowest  class  who 
here  consort  together  and  lay  plans  for  crimes. 

But  this  is  not  the  worst  feature  of  the  matter.     Take  the 
case  of  a  youth  who  runs  away  from  his  home  in  the  country, 


646 


WHERE   CRIMINALS   ARE   MADE. 


or  who  for  any  reason  finds  himself  homeless  or  stranded  in 
the  great  city.  In  searching  for  a  cheap  place  to  sleep  he  nat- 
urally—  and,  it  must  be  said,  innocently  —  drifts  into  one  of 
these  lodging-houses.  Here  inevitable  association  with  those 
who  make  these  places  their  headquarters  will  corrupt  him  in 
a  wonderfully  short  time.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  —  I  am 
quite  confident  that  this  proportion  is  not  too  large  —  he  is 


A  TEN  CENT  ATTIC  LODGING  ROOM  OF  THE  BETTER  CLASS. 

graduated  a  petty  thief,  often  develops  into  a  burglar,  and  he 
may  sooner  or  later  become  a  murderer.  Numerous  instances 
of  this  kind  occur  every  year. 

The  cheap  lodging-house  in  New  York  is  a  modern  institu- 
tion. It  was  started  by  a  man  named  Howe,  who  came  here 
from  Boston,  about  fifteen  years  ago.  His  first  lodging-house 
in  Chatham  Street  (now  Park  Eow)  was  a  success,  and  he  soon 
extended  the  business.  When  he  died,  a  few  years  ago,  he  left 
a  large  fortune  as  the  result  of  shrewd  management  of  a  new 
enterprise.  The  number  of  lodging-houses  and  dormitories  has 
increased  rapidly  since  Howe  made  his  first  venture,  and  there 
are  now  270  such  places  in  the  city,  containing  in  all  12,317 
rooms.     Some  of  these  lodging-houses  have  as  many  as  three 


FIGURES  THAT  DO   NOT   LIE. 


G47 


hundred  beds.  There  is  one  class  in  which  fifteen,  twenty,  or 
twenty-five  cents  are  charged  for  a  night's  lodging,  while  in 
another  and  lower  class  the  prices  range  from  three  to  ten 
cents.  In  the  very  cheapest  houses  the  lodgers  generally  sleep 
on  the  floor  or  on  narrow  wooden  benches,  and  in  some  places 
on  strips  of  canvas  suspended  by  ropes,  after  the  fashion  of 
hammocks.  According  to  the  Report  of  the  Police  Depart- 
ment of  Xew  York  for  1890,  the  enormous  number  of  4,823,595 
cheap  lodgings  were  furnished  during  the  year  in  these  resorts. 
The  following  table,  taken  from  the  report,  shows  the  distribu- 
tion of  lodging-houses  among  the  various  precincts. 


PllECrSCTS. 


First,  .... 

Second,  .  .  . 
Fourth,  .  .  . 
Fifth,  .... 

Sixth, .... 
Seventh,  .  .  . 
Eighth,  .  .  . 
Ninth,  .  .  . 
Tenth,  .  .  . 
Eleventh,  .  . 
Thirteenth,  .  . 
Fourteenth. .  . 
Fifteenth,  .  . 
Sixteenth,  .  . 
Eighteenth,  .  . 
Twentieth,  .  . 
Twenty-first,  . 
Twenty-third,  . 
Twenty-fifth,  . 
Twenty-seventh, 
Twenty -ninth,  . 

Total.    .     . 


LODGIM.-U(>r-KS   AND   DORMITORIES. 


Number. 

Number  of  Rooms. 

Lodgers,  isih). 

6 

29:5 

84,250 

17 

362 

56,175 

42 

1,358 

603,515 

3 

97 

34,520 

33 

1,957 

795,850 

10 

217 

52,143 

7 

87 

90,920 

3 

149 

76.400 

11 

1,116 

390,605 

64 

3,810 

1,452,020 

7 

8 

44,530 

3 

116 

125,195 

14 

636 

256,575 

1 

154 

15,000 

16 

370 

264,406 

8 

198 

103,211 

6 

201 

63,675 

1 

5 

32,000 

1 

4 

7:5.000 

2 

49 

645 

15 

1,130 

208,958 

270 

12,317 

4,823,595 

These  figures  are  obtained  by  inquiry  among  the  keepers 
of  the  known  lodging-houses,  and,  while  they  do  not  wholly 


648  LEAVES  FROM  MY  OWN  EXPERIENCE. 

agree  with  what  I  learn  from  other  sources,  they  are,  no  doubt, 
fairly  accurate. 

If  tenement  life  tends  to  immorality  and  vice,  certainly  the 
sixty -four  lodging-houses  in  the  Eleventh  Precinct,  furnishing 
1,452,020  lodgings  in  one  year,  must  have  the  same  or  a  worse 
tendency.  Keflection  upon  the  figures  contained  in  the  above 
table  will  lead  to  the  conclusion  that  New  York  has  a  large 
population  of  impecunious  people  which  ought  to  be  regarded 
with  some  concern. 

An  average  of  13,626  persons  without  home  and  family 
influences  lodge  nightly  in  the  police  station-houses  and  in 
these  cheap  lodging-houses  or  poorly  provided  dormitories,  — 
an  army  Of  idlers  willingly  or  enforcedly  so.*  Social  reform- 
ers can  here  find  a  field  for  speculation  if  not  for  considerable 
activity. 

There  are  a  few  Italian  lodging-houses  in  the  city;  they 
are  very  low  and  dirty,  and  give  the  police  the  greatest 
trouble  of  all. 

The  cheapest  class  of  lodging-houses  are  generally  the 
resort  of  drunkards  and  vicious  people  of  the  lowest  type, 
though  all  of  them  are  infested  with  thieves,  idlers,  and 
loafers  of  every  description.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  assert 
that  these  places  are  hot-beds  of  crime.  More  than  one  mur- 
der has  been  committed  in  them.  I  recall  the  case  of  a  des- 
perado who,  not  long  ago,  stabbed  and  killed  a  young  man  in 
a  lodging-house  in  Chatham  street.  The  victim  was  the  son  of 
respectable  parents,  but  had  fallen  into  dissolute  habits,  and 
was  accustomed  to  spend  his  nights  in  these  resorts.  One 
night  the  murderer  got  into  an  altercation  with  him;  blows 
followed,  and  the  result  was  that  the  young  man  received 
fatal  wounds.  Another  man  was  killed  in  the  Phoenix  lodg- 
ing-house in  the  Bowery.  He  applied  for  a  lodging,  which 
for  some  reason  was  refused ;  he  quarreled  Avith  the  clerk, 
and  the  clerk  killed  him,  being  subsequently  acquitted  on  the 


*  During  1890  there  were  150,240  lodgings  furnished  at  the  station-houses 
of  the  city,  making  the  total  number  of  cheap  lodgings  furnished  to  indigent 
persons  4,973,835. 


RKSuRTS    OF    THIEVES    AND    CRIMINALS. 


G49 


ground  of  justifiable  homicide.  It  was  at  this  same  Phoenix 
house  that  I  and  my  men  arrested  the  notorious  Greenwall 
ami  Miller  on  the  charge  of  murdering  Lyman  S.  Weeks  in 
Brooklyn.     There  is  little  doubt  in  my  mind  that  this  murder, 

a  most  dastardly  crime  (Mr.  Weeks  being  shot  down  in  his 
own  house  by  a  burglar  who  had  invaded  it),  was  hatched  in 


A  SEVEN   CENT   LODGING  ROOM   AT   MIDNIGHT. 

this  house  or  in  some  other  of  like  character.  In  the  very 
same  place  three  men  were  subsequently  arrested  for  a  bur- 
glary committed  in  a  residence  in  Mount  Yernon.  In  the 
lodging-house  at  ISTo.  2f>2  Bowery,  we  secured  a  gang  of  thieves 
who  had  been  engaged  in  a  series  of  robberies  at  Kingston, 
N.  Y.j  who  were  afterwards  sent  up  there  for  punishment. 
Hundreds  of  instances  of  criminals  who  made  their  abode  in 
houses  of  this  sort  may  be  mentioned. 

A  case  somewhat  out  of  the  ordinary  run  was  that  of  a 
man,  who  Avas  convicted  of  forgery  on  the  complaint  of  a  well- 


650  THE  PRIDE  OF  A  BOWERY  TOUGH. 

known  business  firm.  The  forger  had  only  been  a  year  in 
this  country,  and  for  some  months  he  had  been  out  of  employ- 
ment. During  this  time  he  lived  at  a  cheap  lodging-house  in 
the  Bowery.  There  he  became  imbued  with  criminal  ideas, 
and  planned  to  follow  letter-carriers  while  making  deliveries. 
When  letters  were  deposited  in  small  boxes  in  front  of  stores 
and  lofts,  and  a  good  opportunity  presented  itself,  the  thief 
would  abstract  them  by  means  of  long  keys  and  a  piece  of 
steel  wire.  In  this  way  a  letter  from  a  Philadelphia  house, 
containing  a  check  for  a  large  sum,  fell  into  his  hands.  He 
forged  the  indorsement  of  the  New  York  firm  and  obtained 
the  money.  Subsequently  he  was  arrested  and  sentenced  to  a 
long  term  in  prison. 

Within  the  last  few  years  crime  has  increased  very  rapidly 
in  these  cheap  lodging-houses.  A  large  number  of  young  fel- 
lows hailing  from  these  places  have  been  arrested  for  petty 
thefts,  such  as  stealing  blankets  from  horses  whose  drivers 
have  been  compelled  to  leave  them  for  a  minute  or  two,  or  for 
picking  up  anything  else  of  trifling  value  that  they  could  lay 
hands  on.  These  are  beginners  in  crime,  as  a  rule,  and  they 
undoubtedly  associate  with  older  and  more  experienced  men, 
who  for  a  small  sum  of  money  tell  them  how  to  proceed  and 
where  to  dispose  of  their  booty.  In  this  way  young  men  often 
receive  their  initiation  in  crime.  I  personally  have  arrested 
a  considerable  number  of  men  in  lodging-houses  for  carrying 
burglars'  tools.  Hundreds  of  criminals  are  made  every  year 
through  associations  formed  in  these  breeding-places  of  lawless- 
ness. 

Lying  on  my  desk  are  two  tin-types  of  the  cheapest  sort, 
evidently  taken  in  the  Bowery.  They  represent  two  young 
"  toughs,"  each  holding  a  pistol  at  the  head  of  the  other. 
They  were  taken  from  the  pockets  of  the  young  fellows,  who 
were  brought  into  my  private  room  on  charges  of  robbery. 
These  photographs  interested  me,  and  I  asked  the  boys  how 
they  came  to  be  taken  in  that  style.  "  Oh,"  they  answered, 
"  we  held  a  pistol  up  to  the  head  of  a  man  one  night  and  got 
his  money,  and  we  just  thought  we  would  like  to  see  how  we 


FIRST   STEPS   IX  CRIME.  G51 

looked  when  we  did  it."  They  seemed  proud  of  their  achieve- 
ment. I  mention  this  as  an  illustration  of  the  sort  of  young 
criminals  the  cheap  Lodging-houses  of  New  York  turn  out. 

During  the  Last  two  or  three  years  hundreds  of  young  men 
have  been  arrested  for  small  crimes  that  originated  in  tins.' 
places.  In  many  cases  it  was  the  first  step  in  wrongdoing. 
Observation  in  the  courts  convinces  me  that  three-fourths  of 
the  young  men  called  on  to  plead  to  various  charges  are  under 
twenty  years  of  age ;  they  are  poorly  clad  and  generally  with- 
out means.  Their  crimes  are  petty  ones  as  a  rule,  and  they 
seem  to  have  no  realizing  sense  of  their  misdeeds  or  whither 
they  are  leading  them.  It  is  the  customary  thing,  when  they 
are  arraigned  in  court,  for  the  judges  to  assign  counsel  to  de- 
fend them,  since  these  young  criminals  have  no  money  to  pay 
for  professional  advice. 

It  has  frequently  been  stated  to  me  by  thieves  that  a  large 
number  of  foreign  criminals  have  had  their  passage  paid  to 
this  country  by  the  authorities  of  their  native  place  or  by 
somebody  else.  When  they  land  here  they  have  no  money,  or 
very  little,  and  they  immediately  seek  a  cheap  lodging-house 
where  they  can  live  for  almost  nothing,  meet  people  congenial 
to  them,  and  be  put  in  the  way  of  again  engaging  in  criminal 
pursuits.  I  remember  the  case  of  a  boy  who  came  here  from 
Antwerp  not  long  ago,  and  secured  employment.  His  em- 
ployer, noticing  that  the  boy  acted  strangely,  questioned  him, 
whereupon  the  lad  confessed  that  in  Prussia,  his  native  country, 
he  had  had  a  quarrel  with  another  boy,  and  in  a  moment  of 
passion  had  dashed  his  brains  out.  The  boy  was  arrested  by 
detectives  from  this  office,  and  the  matter  was  brought  to  the 
attention  of  the  German  consul.  But  the  consul  had  no  official 
advices  about  the  boy  or  his  record,  and  as  no  charges  were 
pressed  against  him  he  was  discharged.  He  then  went  to  live 
in  one  of  the  low  lodging-houses,  where,  I  suppose,  he  was  in 
due  course  instructed  in  crime.  At  all  events,  in  a  short  time 
he  was  detected  in  the  act  of  committing  a  burglary  in  the 
store  of  his  former  employer. 

Only  recently  I  arrested  a  man  who  was  engaged  in  rob- 


652 


BAD   INFLUENCE   OF   CHEAP   LODGING-HOUSES. 


bing  private  houses  in  the  upper  part  of  the  city.  He  told  me 
that  he  had  been  sent  here  on  account  of  being  caught  in  thiev- 
ing operations  in  his  native  land.  He  had  no  money  when  he 
arrived,  except  a  few  shillings,  and  almost  the  first  place  he  got 
into  was  one  of  the  cheap  lodging-houses.     He  soon  became 


NIGHT    IN  A   HAMMOCK  LODGING-ROOM   FOR   TRAMPS. 

acquainted  with  the  inmates,  who  were  mostly  thieves,  and  in 
a  little  while  they  took  him  out  over  the  city  and  set  him  to 
stealing.  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  there  are  numerous 
cases  like  this. 

But  the  evils  that  have  been  already  mentioned  are  not  the 
only  ones  that  are  produced  by  the  cheap  lodging-house  system. 
It  is  notorious  that  these  houses  are  used  every  year  for  the 
"colonization"  of  voters.  A  large  number  of  men  register 
regularly  from  these  places,  and  they  have  not  the  slightest 
hesitation  about  swearing  in  their  votes  in  case  they  are  chal- 
lenged. Now  and  then  somebody  comes  to  grief  through  this 
practice,  but  it  still  flourishes.     Not  long  ago  the  proprietor  of 


^33 


ill 

o  MH 


0,0  o 


►7      v&'C  ~ 


TIIE   DESCENT   INTO   THE   PIT.  G55 

the  u Windsor,"  a  lodging-house  on  the  Bowery,  was  sent  to 
prison  for  "colonizing"  voters.  But  usually  this  work  is  done 
in  the  interest  of  some  local  political  "boss,"  who  stands  by 
the  owner  of  the  house  in  case  the  latter  gets  into  trouble.  This 
alone  is  certainly  an  evil  of  large  dimensions. 

I  might  cite  many  other  cases  that  have  come  under  my 
personal  observation,  where  crimes  have  been  the  direct  off- 
spring of  life  in  lodging-houses.  Take  the  case  of  "  Mike  "  Dro- 
han,  a  notorious  thief,  who  lived  at  the  Windsor,  to  which  ref- 
erence has  just  been  made.  Drohan  went  to  Johnstown  after 
the  recent  horrible  disaster,  and  was  shot  and  killed  while  en- 
gaged in  the  fiendish  work  of  robbing  the  dead  bodies  of  the 
victims  of  the  flood.  Assuredly  there  was  a  case  where  a  crim- 
inal got  something  like  his  just  deserts.  Again,  these  low  lodg- 
ing-houses become  the  dwelling-places  of  many  of  the  convicts 
who  are  released  from  prison.  These  men  have  little  money, 
and  they  naturally  gravitate  to  these  places  —  at  a  critical  time 
in  their  career  —  where  they  are  likely  to  find  people  they 
know.  There  they  soon  fall  in  with  old  companions,  and  sooner 
or  later  renew  their  acquaintance  with  crime.  Lodging-houses 
thus  play  an  important  part  in  causing  ex-convicts  to  resume 
their  former  vocation. 

It  may  be  asked  whether  these  resorts  do  not  serve  any  use- 
ful purpose.  Undoubtedly  there  are  frequently  worthy  people 
who  are  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  get  a  night's  lodging  for  a 
trifle;  but  these  are  a  small  minority  of  the  habitues  of  such 
houses.  In  the  course  of  my  professional  duties  I  have  found 
among  the  patrons  of  these  places  a  sprinkling  of  professional 
men  who  once  held  good  positions  in  society, — lawyers,  doc- 
tors, civil-engineers,  and  even  authors. 

First  they  have  become  drunkards,  and  have  gone  down  the 
ladder  step  by  step  until  they  have  been  abandoned  by  their 
friends  and  have  become  sots  in  the  lowest  lodging-houses,  pre- 
senting no  difference  in  their  personal  appearance  from  the  vilest 
patrons  of  such  places.  Only  conversation  with  these  people 
betrays  their  education  and  former  standing  in  society,  and  the 
fact  that  they  have  sunk  from  a  lofty  position  through  a  lack 


656  A  MENACE  TO   SOCIETY. 

of  will-power.  I  remember  one  who  was  brought  before  me  on 
suspicion,  who  belonged  to  a  family  that  had  held  an  exalted 
social  position.  He  was  the  black  sheep  of  the  family,  and  had 
at  length  sunk  so  low  as  to  consort  with  the  worst  class  of  peo- 
ple that  are  to  be  found  in  the  cheapest  lodging-houses.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  possibility  of  reclaiming  him,  and  I  suppose  he 
will  spend  his  days  there. 

Such  is  the  evil  —  a  menace  to  good  order  and  the  well-being 
of  society  of  rapidly-enlarging  proportions.  And  the  remedy  ? 
That  I  conceive  to  lie  outside  of  my  province  as  a  police  official. 
But  I  am  convinced  that  a  remedy  ought  to  be  applied,  —  a 
drastic,  searching  remedy — and  applied  without  delay.  This 
is  not  the  case  for  a  palliative ;  as  Emerson  would  say,  it  is  a 
"  case  for  a  gun,"  for  the  knife,  the  blister,  the  amputating  in- 
struments. I  will  venture  to  offer  one  or  two  suggestions  only, 
which  philanthropists  who  endeavor  to  solve  the  problem  may 
care  to  take  into  account. 

There  is  no  law  which  governs  or  applies  to  these  low  places 
except  certain  sections  of  the  Sanitary  Code  of  the  Board  of 
Health,  which  give  the  Health  Department  the  right  to  exercise 
supervision  over  them  in  the  matter  of  cleanliness.  The  legis- 
lature should  enact  stringent  laws  by  which  these  houses  should 
be  placed  under  police  supervision,  and  their  records  and  books 
laid  open  at  all  times  to  inspection.  The  police  are  the  officials 
who  practically  enforce  the  laws,  and  they  have  better  oppor- 
tunities than  any  others  for  ascertaining  the  characters  of  per- 
sons and  places.  It  should  be  a  misdemeanor  for  the  proprie- 
tor of  such  a  house  to  mutilate  or  destroy  his  books,  and  he 
should  be  compelled  to  keep  an  accurate  record  of  all  his  lodg- 
ers. JSTo  person  who  is  not  of  good  character  should  be  permit- 
ted to  own  or  maintain  a  lodging-house,  and  bonds  should  be 
required  of,  and  licenses  issued  to,  those  who  desire  to  carry  on 
this  business. 


CHAPTER  XX  XT. 

SCIENTIFIC  BURGLARS  AND  EXPERT  CRACKSMEN-  HOW  BANK 
VAULTS  AND  SAFES  ARE  OPENED  AND  ROBBED  —  THE 
TOOLS,  PLANS,  OPERATIONS,  AND  LEADERS  OF  HIGHLY- 
BRED  CRIMINALS. 

An  Important  Profession  —  Highly-Bred  Rogues  — The  Lower  Ranks  of  Thieves 
—  Professional  Bank-Burglars  and  their  Talents  —  Misspent  Years  — A 
Startling  Statement  about  Safes  —  The  Race  between  Burglars  and  Safe- 
builders  —  How  Safes  are  Opened  —  Mysteries  of  the  Craft  —  Safe-Blow- 
ing—  How  Combination  Locks  are  Picked  —  A  Delicate  Touch  —  Throw- 
ing Detectives  off  the  Scent  —  A  Mystery  for  Fifteen  Years  —  Leaders  of 
Gangs  —  Conspiring  to  Rob  a  Bank  — Working  from  an  Adjoining  Build- 
ing —  Disarming  Suspicion  —  Shadowing  Bank  Officers  — Working  through 
the  Cashier  —  Making  False  and  Duplicate  Keys  —  The  Use  of  High  Ex- 
plosives—  Safe-Breakers  and  their  Tools  —  Ingenious  Methods  of  Expert 
Criminal?  —  Opening  a  Safe  in  Twenty  Minutes  —  Fagin  and  his  Pupils — 
Taking  Impression  of  Store  Locks  in  Wax  —  Old  Criminals  who  Teach 
Young  Thieves. 

THE  ways  of  making  a  livelihood  by  crime  are  many,  and 
the  number  of  men  and  women  who  live  by  their  wits  in 
New  York  city  reaches  into  the  thousands.  Some  of  these 
criminals  are  very  clever  in  their  own  peculiar  line,  and  are 
constantly  turning  their  lawless  qualities  to  the  utmost  pecuni- 
ary account.  Eobbery  is  now  classed  as  a  profession,  and  in 
place  of  the  awkward  and  hang-dog  looking  thief  of  a  few 
years  ago  we  have  to-day  the  intelligent  and  thoughtful  rogue. 
There  seems  to  be  a  strange  fascination  about  crime  that  often 
draws  men  of  brains,  who  have  their  eyes  wide  open,  into  its 
meshes.  Many  people,  and  especially  those  whose  knowledge 
of  criminal  life  is  purely  theoretical,  imagine  that  persons  who 
adopt  criminal  pursuits  are  governed  by  what  they  have  been 
previously,  and  that  a  criminal  life  once  chosen,  is,  as  a  rule, 
adhered  to  ;  or,  in  other  words,  a  man  once  a  pickpocket  is 
always  a  pickpocket ;  or,  once  a  burglar  always  a  burglar. 

(657) 


658  PROFESSIONAL   AND   HIGHLY-BRED   ROGUES. 

Hardly  any  supposition  could  be  more  erroneous.  Primarily 
there,  are,  of  course,  predisposing  influences  which  have  a  cer- 
tain effect  in  governing  choice. 

A  man  of  education,  refined  habits,  and  possibly  a  mini- 
mum of  courage,  would  not  be  likely  to  adopt  a  criminal  pur- 
suit requiring  brute  force  and  nerve.  Such  a  one  would  be  far 
more  likely  to  become  a  forger  or  counterfeiter  than  a  high- 
way robber.  Still,  under  certain  circumstances,  he  might  be 
either,  foreign  as  they  would  be  to  his  nature.  Criminal  occu- 
pation, however,  is —  like  everything  else — progressive.  Two 
things  stand  in  the  way  of  the  beginner  in  crime  who  seeks  to 
reach  what  he  considers  the  top  rungs  of  the  criminal  lad- 
der. The  first  is  lack  of  experience  and  skill ;  the  second,  lack 
of  confidence  in  him  or  knowledge.of  him  by  the  older  and  more 
practiced  hands,  whose  co-operation  is  generally  necessary  to 
the  commission  of  a  great  crime.  But  the  confidence  of 
more  experienced  criminals  is  gained  slowly.  The  few  very 
successful  rogues  who  have  attained  exalted  rank  in  the  crim- 
inal profession  despise  the  thousands  of  other  criminals  who 
live  by  the  commission  of  petty  crimes.  Aware  of  their  supe- 
riority, these  old  and  experienced  rascals  are  overbearing  to  a 
last  degree  when  chance  brings  them  in  contact  with  thieves 
of  a  lower  order. 

Hence,  if  the  novice  in  crime  cannot  by  the  force  of  his 
own  genius  strike  out  for  himself  some  new  line  of  forgery, 
confidence  operations,  embezzlements,  or  others  of  the  class  of 
crimes  dependent  upon  brains,  adroitness,  and  address  for  their 
success,  he  generally  enters  the  arena  of  crime  as  a  common 
thief  —  one  of  the  class  who  will  steal  anything  from  a  needle 
to  a  ship's  anchor.  With  increased  knowledge  of  the  practice 
of  crime  gained  by  experience,  aided  by  natural  adaptability 
for  especial  methods  of  preying  upon  the  community,  and 
sometimes  assisted  by  the  advice  and  co-operation  of  older 
criminals  with  whom  he  comes  in  contact,  whose  confidence  he 
gradually  acquires,  a  petty  general  thief  may  become  one  of  a 
gang  of  pickpockets,  and  from  a  pickpocket,  in  course  of  time, 
may  suddenly  come  to  the  front  as  a  first-class  bank  burglar. 


CR ACKSMKN    OF   TIIF    FIRST    ORDER. 


059 


Cracksmen  of  this  class  head  the  list  of  mechanical  thieves. 
It  requires  r;m>  qualities  in  a  criminal  to  become  an  expert 
bank-safe  robber.     Thieves  of  this  high  grade  stand  unrivaled 


SECTION   OF   SnOWCASE   IN    THE    MUSEUM   OF   CRIME. 
TAKEN   FROM   BURGLARS. 


TOOLS   AND   IMPLEMENTS 


among  their  kind.  The  professional  hank' -burglar  must  have 
patience,  intelligence,  mechanical  knowledge,  industry,  deter- 
mination, fertility  of  resource,  and  courage,  all  in  high  degree. 
But  even  if  he  possess  all  these  they  cannot  be  utilized  unless 
he  can  find  suitable  associates  or  gain  admission  to  one  of  the 
already  organized  gangs.  Sometimes  the  arrest  of  a  single 
man  belonging  to  an  organized  gang  will  put  a  stop  to  the 


660 


NO  SAFE  BURGLAR-PROOF. 


operations  of  the  remainder  for  a  long  time,  simply  because 
they  need  another  man  and  can  find  nobody  they  can  trust. 
Bank-burglars  have  been  known  to  spend  years  in  unwearied 
preparation  for  the  commission   of  a  great  crime,  gleaning 

necessary  informa- 
tion of  the  habits  of 
bank  officials,  form- 
ing advantageous  ac- 
quaintances, and 
making  approaches 
to  the  coveted  treas- 
ure all  the  time,  but 
with  patience  to  wait 
until  everything  was 
ready  before  striking 
a  blow. 

The  construction 
of  a  massive  bank 
safe,  provided, as 
they  now  are,  with 
electric  alarms,  com- 
bination and  time 
locks,  and  other  pro- 
tective appliances,  is 
such  that  none  but  a 
mechanical  genius 
can  discover  its  weak 
points  and  attack  it 
successfully.  There  is  not  a  safe  in  use  to-day  that  is  abso- 
lutely burglar-proof,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  many  manu- 
facturers advertise  and  guarantee  those  of  their  build  as  such. 
Every  now  and  then  safe-makers  quietly  alter  the  internal  con- 
struction of  their  vaults,  and  these  changes  are  brought  about 
by  the  achievements  of  some  scientific  robber.  Just  as  soon  as 
a  safe-builder  learns  that  burglars  have  discovered  a  defect  in 
vaults  of  his  make,  new  designs  are  made  to  make  them  secure 
against  like  attacks. 


SECTIONAL  JIMMIES   AND   SKELETON  KEYS    TAKEN 
FROM  BURGLARS. 


HOW    SAFES    AND    VAULTS    AKK    111   KCiLARIZED.  661 

The  wreokiiig  of  every  Bafe,  therefore,  by  burglars,  reveals 

a  weakness  in  its  construction,  ;m<l  necessitates  alterations 
which  of  course,  Later  on,  make  the  work  of  thevaull  opener 
more  difficult.  A  large  number  of  safes  are  turned  out  of  the 
factories  weekly,  and  a  calculating  burglar,  when  he  lias  dis- 
covered a  defect  in  a  certain  pattern,  will  delay  exposing  his 
secret  to  the  manufacturer  until  thousands  of  the  seemingly 
strong,  yet  frail,  vaults  have  been  made  and  are  in  use.  That 
ensures  him  something  to  operate  upon,  for  he  well  knows  that 
after  his  first  success  is  reported  at  the  safe  factory,  improve- 
ments in  the  construction  of  that  particular  safe  will  be  in 
order. 

The  proficiency  attained  by  bank-burglars,  and  the  appar- 
ently comparative  ease  with  which  they  secure  the  contents  of 
massive  vaults,  are  the  results  of  constant  and  careful  study. 
All  the  resources,  ingenuity,  and  cunning  of  the  cracksman 
who  makes  bank-wrecking  a  specialty  are  put  to  the  test  in 
such  an  undertaking,  and  plans  follow  plans  until  at  last  one  is 
matured  which  circumstances  may  warrant  as  safe,  feasible, 
and  profitable.  Then  the  accomplishment  of  the  scheme  only 
depends  upon  nerve,  daring,  and  mechanical  tools. 

Some  burglars  make  their  own  outfit,  but  almost  any  black- 
smith will  furnish  any  tool  he  is  called  upon  to  make,  if  its 
construction  is  within  his  capacity,  without  asking  any  ques- 
tions about  the  uses  to  which  it  is  to  be  put,  provided  he  gets 
his  price  for  it.  It  is  more  than  probable  that  he  guesses  the 
use  for  which  it  is  intended,  but  that,  he  thinks,  is  not  his  busi- 
ness, and  he  is  not  given  to  asking  questions  when  he  is  well 
paid  for  his  skill.  The  making  of  such  implements  is,  as  a  rule, 
confined  to  those  mechanics  who  are  actually  in  league  with 
the  criminals  who  expect  to  use  them.  The  heavy  and  un- 
wieldy tools  of  years  ago  have  been  abandoned  by  modern 
bank-robbers  for  newer  inventions.  Some  bank  thieves  use  the 
spirit  lamp  and  blow-pipe  to  soften  the  hardened  metals  and 
take  the  temper  out  of  the  steel  vault  doors  or  cases,  while 
others  use  only  a  small  diamond-pointed  drill.  Others,  who  do 
not  care  to  spend  time  in  manipulating  the  intricate  combina- 

40 


662 


burglars'  tools  and  appliances. 


BURGLARS   IMPROVED 
SAFE-OPENER. 


tion  of  a  lock,  use  simple  machines  technically  called  the  "drag" 
and  "'jackscrew."     The  drag,  simple  as  it  looks,  is  extremely 

powerful  and  very  quiet. 
By  means  of  a  bit,  a  hole 
is  bored  through  a  safe- 
door  ;  a  nut  is  set  inside ;  the  point  of  the 
screw  passes  through  the  nut,  which  rests 
inside  the  surface  that  has  been  bored; 
then  the  screw  is  turned  by  a  long  handle, 
which  two  men  can  operate.  As  the  screw 
turns,  the  nut  is  forced  farther  and  farther 
forward.  It  is  a  power  that  hardly  any 
safe  can  resist,  no  matter  how  well  con- 
structed. Either  the  back  or  the  front 
must  give  way. 

The  jackscrew  is  rigged  so  that  by 
turning  it  will  noiselessly  force  into  the  crack  of  a  safe  door 
a  succession  of  steel  wedges ;  first  one  as  thin  as  a  knife-blade ; 
soon,  one  as  thick  as  your  hand ;  and 
so  on,  increasing  in  size  until  the 
hinges  give  way.  Where  the  size  or 
location  of  the  safe  or  vault  to  be 
forced  precludes  the  use  of  these  machines, 
and  an  explosion  becomes  necessary,  dyna- 
mite and  nitro-glycerine  are  used  with  the 
greatest  skill,  and  with  such  art  in  the  dead- 
ening of  sound  that  sometimes  an  explosion 
which  rends  asunder  a  huge  safe  cannot  be 
heard  twenty  yards  away  from  the  room  in 
which  it  takes  place. 

The  patient  safe-robber  is  aware  of  sev- 
eral ingenious  ways  of  picking  combination 
locks.  In  following  their  nefarious  calling 
these  men  acquire  a  delicacy  of  feeling  by 
which  they  are  able  to  determine  to  a  nicety  the  exact  distance 
necessary  to  raise  each  tumbler  of  the  lock.  The  burglar  masters 
a  combination  with  almost  mathematical  accuracy,  and  manipu- 


BURGLARS     JACK- 
SCREW. 


EXPERT   COMBINATION    LOCK    PICKER. 


GG3 


DARK  LANTERNS  TAKEN  l-'KOM  BLKGLARS. 


lates  the  complex  machinery  <>f  the  lock  with  the  same  dexterity 
and  precision  that  a  music-teacher  touches  the  keys  of  a  piano. 
He  is  trained  to  detect  one  false  note  in  a  swelling  chorus 
produced  by  the  click  of  reverberating  ratchets  within  the 
lock,  and  marks  the  period  and  duration  of  the  drops.  When 
he  comes  across  some  new  kind  of  lock,  he  will  manage  to  get 
possession  of  one, 
whatever  its  cost,  and 
whatever  roundabout 
means  may  be  necessa- 
ry to  get  hold  of  it,  and 
taking  it  apart,  will 
study  its  construction 
until  he  knows  its 
strong  and  weak 
points,  and  how  to 
master  it,  just  as  well 
as  its  inventor  or  maker  could.  He  is  always  on  the  alert  to 
utilize  every  new  appliance  of  power  in  the  furtherance  of  his 
nefarious  purposes. 

The  combination-lock  picker  is  the  cleverest  of  all  the  fra- 
ternity of  lock-workers.  His  is  a  life  of  study  and  careful 
experimenting.  He  proceeds  to  fathom  the  mystery  of  a  new 
and  intricate  piece  of  mechanism  with  the  same  enthusiastic 
yet  patient  attention  and  study  that  actuates  a  scientist  in 
search  of  more  useful  knowledge.  Having  acquired  the  mas- 
tery over  any  combination  lock,  the  burglar  guards  his  secret 
jealously.  Gaining  access  to  the  bank  or  building,  he  can  tell 
at  once  the  character  of  the  combination-lock  he  has  to  deal 
with,  and  that  with  him  is  tantamount  to  opening  the  safe  or 
vault.  Having  rifled  the  safe  of  its  contents,  he  closes  the 
door,  and  begins  to  make  arrangements  to  deceive  the  officials 
of  the  institution  and  the  detectives.  The  crevices  of  the  safe 
doors  are  filled  with  putty,  with  the  exception  of  a  small 
orifice  in  the  upper  or  horizontal  crevice,  through  which  pow- 
der is  blown  into  the  safe  by  means  of  a  small  bellows.  The 
hole  is  then  closed,  a  slow  fuse  which  is  inserted  into  the  crack 


BURGLARS  DIAMOND-POINTED 
CRANK  DRILL  FOR  DRILL- 
ING THROUGH   SAFES. 


664  INGENIOUS   METHODS   OF   OPENING   SAFES. 

is  set  on  fire  and  the  building  is  vacated.  Half  an  hour  or  so 
later  the  fuse  ignites  the  powder,  and  the  safe  door  is  shattered 
from  its  strong  fastenings. 

For  fifteen  years  the  manner  in  which  a  celebrated  combi- 
nation lock  was  picked  by  thieves  was  involved  in  mystery, 
during  which  time  many  honest  bank  employees  suffered  in 
reputation,  and  not  a  few  were  imprisoned.  The  criminals 
who  operated  so  mysteriously  upon  the  safes  never  took  all  the 
money  or  valuables.  In  many  cases  they  helped  themselves  to 
but  a  small  percentage  of  the  proceeds,  and  it  was  this  ruse 
that  threw  the  officials  off  their  guard  and  brought  the  em- 
ployees into  disrepute.  The  burglars  familiarized  themselves 
with  the  make  and 
patterns  of  the 
locks,  and  then 
bored  a  hole  with- 
in a  short  distance 
of  the  spindle  that 

held  the  tumblers.     With  the  use  of  a  com- 
mon knitting-needle  the  tumblers  were  then  dropped  one  after 
another,  and  the  safe  door  opened. 

The  secret  of  another  ingenious  method  of  opening  safes  at 
last  leaked  out.  The  paying  teller  of  an  Eastern  bank,  having 
been  absent  at  lunch,  returned  earlier  than  was  his  custom  and 
discovered  a  strange  man  on  his  knees  tampering  with  the  dial 
of  the  combination.  The  man  turned  out  to  be  a  member  of 
a  successful  and  dangerous  gang  of  burglars.  His  arrest  was 
the  means  of  leading  to  the  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  the 
gang  had  been  systematically  picking  a  patent  combination 
lock  by  removing  the  dial  and  placing  a  piece  of  paper  behind 
it,  so  that  when  the  safe  was  opened  the  combination  regis- 
tered its  secret  upon  the  paper.  The  thieves  next  watched 
their  opportunity  to  gain  possession  of  the  paper,  and  when 
this  was  accomplished  the  safe  and  its  contents  were  entirely 
at  their  mercy. 

Every  gang  of  bank-burglars  has  its  recognized  leader, 
whose  word  is  law.     He  is  a  man  of  brains,  possessed  of  good 


HOW    BANK    ROBBERIES   ARE    PLANNED. 


GG5 


executive  ability,  sleek  and  crafty.  The  care  with  which  he 
arranges  plans  for  getting  into  hank  vaults,  often  spending 
years  in  preparation,  illustrates  the  keenness  of  his  perception 
and  his  depth  of  thought.  Every  little  detail  is  considered 
and  followed,  so  as  to  allay  suspicion  and  permit  him  to  get 
tin' closer  to  his  prize.  The  inception  of  a  hank  burglary  in- 
variably dates  back  for  a  long  time  before  the  consummation 
of  the  crime,  and  in  some  cases  the  interior  drawings  of  the 
building  and  plans  of  the  vaults  made  at  the  time  of  their 
^  erection  have  for  twenty  years  passed  through 
the  hands  of  several  gangs  of  burglars  as  the 
sole  legacy  of  some  crafty  leader.  If  provided 
with  such  important  informa- 
tion, and  the  plundering  of  the 
institution  is  decided  upon,  the 
standing  of  the  concern  and  the 
value  of  the  securities  kept  in 
the  vault  are  first  ascertained. 
Should  these  prove  satisfactory, 
the  conspiracy  gets  under  way. 
Xext  some  inquiries  are  neces- 
sary as  to  the  mechanical  part 
stekl    and    coppeb    sledges    and  0f  the  work  to  be  done.     The 

STEEL    WEDGES     TAKEN    FROM    BUR-  ^  of  ^  ^^  Qf  ^  ^flt, 

the  size  of  the  lock  by  which  it 
is  protected,  and  if  electric  appliances  guard  it,  must  all  be 
known  and  are  very  easily  learned. 

The  burglars  generally  hire  a  store  adjoining  the  institu- 
tion, from  which  they  can  operate  the  better,  and  in  some  in- 
stances they  have  gone  so  far  as  to  rent  the  basement  of  the 
bank,  or  rooms  overhead.  They  may  fit  up  the  place  as  an 
oyster-saloon,  billiard-room,  shoemaker's,  barber's,  or  tailor's 
shop,    or    start    a    dental     establishment.      While     thus    os- 


tensiblv 


a    legitimate     business     the     leader     of 


the  gang  employs  none  but  the  best  workmen,  sells  fine 
goods,  pays  his  rent  regularly,  seems  anxious  for  custom, 
is    pleasant    to    all,    and    makes    himself    a    most    desirable 


666 


CONSUMMATION   OF   THE   PLOT. 


tenant ;  and  his  landlord  has  in  more  than  one  instance 
been  the  president  of  the  bank  against  which  this  bland 
and  good-natured  tenant  was  secretly  plotting.  After  a 
few  weeks'  steady  attention  to  business  he  naturally  becomes 
acquainted  with  the  bank  clerks,  and  passes  much  of  his  spare 
time  in  conversation  with  them,  and  thereby  manages  to  gain 
their  confidence.  Being  a  good  judge  of  human  nature,  he  is 
thus  able  to  survey  the  institution,  obtain  all  the  inside  infor- 
mation he  desires,  and  sometimes  gains  an  impor- 
tant ally  in  his  nefarious  undertaking.  If  he  can 
tamper  with  or  corrupt  one  of  the  clerks  or  watch- 
men, the  job  is  plain  sailing.  As  soon,  however,  as 
the  scheme  becomes  known  to  an  outsider,  the  leader, 
fearing  treachery,  hastens  matters  as  rapidly  as  pos- 
sible. Should  the  mechanical  part  of  the  work 
have  been  figured  down,  and  the  combination 
be  at  the  mercy  of  the  robbers,  the  final  work 
is  generally  completed  between  Saturday  night 
and  Sunday  morning. 

By  cutting  through  the  divid- 
ing partition  wall,  ceiling,  or  floor, 
aided  by  powerful  jimmies,  the 
bank-burglar  and  his  assistants 
find  no  difficulty  in  getting  into 
the  bank.  Then  the  wrecking  of 
the  vault  begins,  and  in  n  short 
time  the  treasure  that  it  contains 
is  in  the  possession  of  the  cracks- 
men. The  task  completed,  the 
burglars  carry  their  booty  into 
the  adjoining  store,  or  perhaps  the 
basement  below  the  ransacked  in- 
stitution, and  at  a  proper  time  remove  it  to  a  much  safer  place. 
Almost  simultaneously  with  the  discovery  that  the  bank  vault 
was  not  as  secure  as  it  was  supposed  to  be,  it  is  learned  that  the 
affable  business  man  who  ran  the  oyster-saloon  or  billiard-room 
next  door,  or  made  change  in  the  barber's  or  shoemaker's  shop 


BURGLARS  SECTIONAL  JLMMIES 
AND  LEATHER  CASE  FOR  CAR- 
RYING  THEM. 


INTIMIDATING    I  AJ9HIERS   AND   CLERKS. 

in  the  basement,  or  superintended  the  extracting  of  teeth  over- 
head, has  suddenly  abandoned  Ids  expensive  fixtures  and  stock 

and  left  for  parts  unknown.  He  lias  realized  thousands  for  every 
dollar  that  he  invested,  and  in  most  eases  he  leaves  in  the  lurch 
the  mean  tool  who  betrayed  his  trust  in  the  hope  that  he  would 
reap  a  rich  reward  by  revealing  to  a  professional  robber  the 
secrets  of  the  institution  that  honored  him  with  its  confidence. 
Some  bank-burglars  devote  most  of  their  time  and  attention 
to  the  cashier  of  the  bank  that  they  have  made  up  their  minds 
to  rob.  They  track  him  to  his  home,  gain  access  to  his  sleep- 
ing-room at  night,  either  by  collusion  with  one  of  the  servants 
or  by  picking  the  door-locks  or  springing  a  window,  and  having 
obtained  the  keys  of  the  bank,  take  impressions  of  them  in  wax. 
Duplicates  are  easily  made  from  these  casts,  and  at  the  first 
opportunity  the  bank  is  safely  plundered.  Should,  however, 
the  cashier  be  disturbed  by  the 
intrusion  of  the  cracksmen  in- 
to his  apartment,  the  burglars 
would  be  forced  to  make  an  at- 
tempt upon  the  bank  that  night. 
Securing  possession  of  the  kevs 

,  .  ,  ,  .  DUMMY    TISTOL    AND   WHISKY    FLASK 

by   threats,   a    couple    of    men  takex  from  BUIttJLAIls# 

would  be  left  to  guard  the  cash- 
ier, while  the  other  members  of  the  band  would  proceed  to  the 
bank  and  rob  it.  In  several  instances  desperate  robbers,  under 
threats  of  instant  death,  have  compelled  the  cashier  whom  they 
have  surprised  to  accompany  them  to  the  bank  and  open  the 
vault. 

Although  ordinary  store-safe  robbers  are  a  grade  below  the 
bank  burglar,  an  expert  one  is  always  regarded  as  an  important 
acquisition  by  an  organized  band  of  cracksmen.  When  the 
store-safe  burglar  ascertains  that  a  certain  business  firm  is  in  the 
habit  of  keeping  a  large  sum  of  money  in  its  safe,  it  does  not 
take  him  long  to  decide  to  rifle  it.  Before  the  establishment 
closes  on  Saturday,  one  and  sometimes  two  members  of  the 
band  manage  to  conceal  themselves  in  an  empty  room,  some- 
times hiding  in  a  packing-box  within  the  premises,  and  when 


008 


SAFE    "BLOWERS"   AND   THEIR   METHODS. 


the  building  has  been  closed  for  the  night  they  admit  their  con- 
federates. The  door  is  locked  again  and  the  cracksmen  lose  no 
time  in  getting  to  work.  The  most  reckless  of  the  safe-robbers 
use  explosives,  but  the  patient  and  careful  operator  either  ma- 
nipulates the  combination  or  noiselessly  wrecks  the  vault  by 
leverage.  The  men  who  resort  to  explosives  are  known  to  their 
associates  as  "  blowers."  They  are  daring  and  desperate  fellows 
and  acquainted  with  the  use  of  the  drill  and  high  explosives. 
It  is  a  hazardous  undertaking  to  shatter  a  safe  in  a  large  city, 

but  in  country 
towns,  where 
there  is  no  po- 
lice patrol  sys- 
tem, these  men 
still  manage  to 
make  an  occa- 
sional haul. 

The  rattle 
made  by  a 
train  on  the 
Elevated  rail- 
road one  night, 
a  few  years 

ago,  deadened  the  noise  made  by  blowing  off  the  doors  of  two 
safes  in  a  post-office  station  along  that  line.  The  noise  made 
by  the  jolting  of  a  lot  of  empty  milk-cans  on  a  cart,  which  was 
purposely  driven  at  a  furious  pace  through  the  street,  led 
to  like  results.  In  a  neighboring  city,  but  a  few  years  ago,  on 
a  Fourth  of  July,  a  gang  of  "blowers"  undertook  to  shatter  a 
safe  in  a  jewelry-store,  while  a  confederate  was  exploding  sev- 
eral packs  of  large  fire-crackers  for  the  amusement  of  a  number 
of  children  who  had  assembled  in  front  of  the  place.  Too 
large  a  charge  of  powder  had  been  placed  in  the  safe,  and  a  tre- 
mendous explosion  followed.  Large  panes  of  glass  were  blown 
out  of  the  front  windows,  and  the  vault  was  badly  wrecked. 
The  explosion  instantly  attracted  attention,  and  the  robbers  ran 
away  in  the  hope  of  escape.     They  were  pursued  and  captured. 


BURGLARS  POWDER  CAN,  POWDER  FUNNEL,  POWDER 
BLOWER,  AND  FUSE. 


COOL   AND   CALCULATING    RASCALS. 


ceo 


The  "breaker  "requires  in  his  work  a  good  assortment  of 
tools,  and  as  they  are  all  made  of  the  hardesl  steel,  a  complete 
outfit  is  quite  expensive.    He  is  generally  a  cool,  calculating 

criminal,  who  quietly  and  deliberately  perfects  his  plans,  and. 
after  securing  the  booty,  takes  great  pains  to  destroy  all  evi- 
dence that  might  lead  to  his  detection.  With  the  aid  of  dia- 
mond-pointed drills  he  is  able  to  bore  holes  into  the  hardest 
known  metals.  Through  these  small  openings  he  inserts  the 
pick,  but  if  the  lock  cannot  be  sprung  in  that  way  a  ponderous 
jimmy  is  inserted. 
Then  the  tearing  be- 
gins, and,  the  lever- 
age being  immense, 
the  safe  is  unable  to 
stand  the  strain  and 
finally  yields.  Some 
of  the  leading  store- 
safe  burglars  use 
tools  known  as  the 
"  puller "  and  the 
"  hydraulic  jack."  A 
gang  of  breakers  re- 
cently made  thou- 
sands of  dollars  rob- 
bing post-office  and  store  safes  in  all  parts  of  the  country. 
Their  manner  of  operating  demonstrated  that  they  were  expert 
cracksmen.  In  all  their  robberies  they  drilled  a  small  hole 
through  the  door  of  the  safe  near  the  combination,  and  through 
the  narrow  opening  they  inserted  some  instrument  which  never 
failed  to  slide  the  bolts  back.  The  entire  operation  was  mar- 
velous for  its  neatness  and  despatch. 

It  has  been  said  of  a  successful  criminal  at  present  serving 
out  a  term  of  imprisonment,  that,  given  twenty  minutes  alone 
with  a  safe,  he  can  open  the  most  intricate  lock  that  ever  was 
devised  ;  and,  given  merely  the  name  of  the  safe-maker,  he  can 
tell  you  instantly  all  the  parts  in  the  lock  and  give  a  diagram 
of  its  mechanism.     He  never  breaks  a  lock ;  he  simply  finds 


BUKGLARS  TOOLS  USED  TO  OBTAIN  LEVERAGE. 


670  EXPLOITS  OF  A  DANGEROUS  CRIMINAL. 

out  the  combination  inside  of  twenty  minutes,  opens  the  safe, 
takes  out  what  he  wants,  and  relocks  it,  and  when  the  owner 
returns  he  finds  the  safe  apparently  just  as  he  left  it.  To  ac- 
complish his  work  this  expert  criminal  uses  three  ordinary 
wires,  which  he  forces  into  the  lock  about  the  handle  in  such 
a  way  that  the  number  of  the  combination  is  reduced  to 
twenty-four.  He  reasons  that  all  persons  in  locking  a  safe 
make  a  certain  number  of  moves,  and  a  knowledge  of  this  fact 
enables  him  to  further  reduce  its  probable  combinations  to  two 
or  three  movements.  These  two  or  three  movements  he  finds 
out  by  actual  trial,  which  consumes  the  greater  part  of  his 
twenty  minutes.  Should  the  safe  stand  in  an  apartment  that 
is  in  full  view  of  the  street,  he  drops  a  little  quicklime  on 
the  floor,  pours  water  on  it,  and  the  steam  that  arises  effectu- 
ally cloaks  the  windows.  In  three  instances  he  unlocked  safes, 
abstracted  the  contents,  relocked  them,  and  made  off  in  the 
time  that  the  men  who  were  in  charge  of  them  were  at  their 
dinner. 

In  several  of  the  principal  cities  of  this  country  there  are 
old  criminals  who  have  become  tired  of  operating,  and  now 
occupy  their  time  experimenting  and  teaching  young  thieves 
the  art  of  safe-robbing.  These  men  are  practical  machinists 
who  have  learned  the  mysteries  of  the  craft  and  the  weak 
points  of  safes  while  in  the  employ  of  money-vault  manufac- 
turers. They  plan  many  if  not  all  of  the  out-of-town  jobs,  for 
which  they  receive  a  percentage  of  the  proceeds.  They  are  thus 
able  to  live  well  and  keep  beyond  the  reach  of  the  law.  They 
never  permit  any  of  their  pupils  to  operate  in  the  city  in 
which  they  dwell,  but  direct  their  movements  throughout  the 
surrounding  country.  Whatever  plunder  the  young  rogues 
secure  has  to  be  converted  into  cold  cash  before  they  are  al- 
lowed to  return  to  their  old  haunts. 

There  are  other  men  who  spend  their  time  in  taking  im- 
pressions of  store  locks,  and  for  a  duplicate  key  to  a  business 
establishment  demand  a  percentage  of  the  plunder.  Some 
years  ago  one  of  these  men  learned  that  the  confidential  clerk 
employed  in  a  bank  was  infatuated  with  gambling,   and  he 


SUC<  ESSPUL    RUSE   OF   A   WILY   CRIMINAL. 


671 


made  his  acquaintance  at  the  gaming-table.     One  night   the 

crafty  rascal  said  that  he  had  forgotten  his  keys  and  was  anx- 
ious to  unlock  the  drawer  of  a  desk  standing  in  one  corner  of  the 

room.  On  the  top  of  the  desk  lay  a  thick  sheet  of  blotting- 
paper  that  had  been  thoroughly  saturated  with  water.  The 
unsuspecting  clerk  loaned  his  keys,  and  while  he  was  wholly 
absorbed  in  the  game  his  companion  pressed  tin1  flat  part  of 
the  key  into  the  blotting  paper  and  also  pressed  it  sideways. 
thus  securing  a  perfect  impression 
of  the  key  and  its  thickness.  Then 
he  handed  the  keys  back  to  the 
clerk,  who  thought  no  more  of  the 
matter.  From  the  impression  thus 
secured  a  duplicate  key  to  the  safe 
was  manufactured,  and  with  it.  a 
month  or  so  later  on,  the  vault  was 
easily  plundered.  A  large  haul 
was  secured  in  this  case,  and  for 
years  suspicion  pointed  to  the  con- 
fidential clerk  as  the  thief. 

Store-burglars  who  make  a  business  of  stealing  goods  are 
generally  men  of  fair  education,  and  in  planning  and  commit- 
ting a  theft  they  often  display  considerable  shrewdness.  To 
this  class  thieving  seems  to  be  a  natural  gift,  and  they  are 
not  ordinarily  anxious  to  rise  to  the.  higher  grades  of  crime. 
They  vary  in  their  manner  of  operating.  Some  prefer  to  steal 
silks  or  velvets,  others  have  a  fondness  for  silverware,  jewelry, 
and  diamonds,  and  others  take  anything  they  can  lay  their 
hands  on.  The  sort  of  plunder  taken  indicates  the  standing  of 
the  thieves.  In  the  carrying  off  of  bulky  booty  great  risks  are 
run,  but  the  men  who  steal  cash  have  but  little  to  fear  except 
discovery  just  as  they  are  leaving  the  scene  of  their  crime. 
This  rarely  happens,  and  should  they  be  afterwards  arrested 
for  the  burglary  there  is  but  little  chance  of  ever  legally  fast- 
ening the  offense  upon  them. 


BTJRGLAB 


AND      ITAND- 


CHAPTEE    XXXVI. 

BANK  SNEAK-THIEVES  AND  THEIR  CHARACTERISTICS  —  PLOTS 
AND  SCHEMES  FOR  ROBBING  MONEYED  INSTITUTIONS  —  A 
DARING  LOT   OF  ROGUES. 

Characteristics  of  Bank  Sneak-Thieves  —  Rogues  of  Education  and  Pleasing 
Address — Nervy  Criminals  of  Unlimited  Cheek  —  How  Bank  Thieves 
Work  —  Some  of  their  Exploits  —  Carefully  Laid  Plots  —  Extraordinary 
Attention  to  Details  —  A  Laughable  Story  —  A  Wily  Map-Peddler  — 
Escaping  with  Twenty  Thousand  Dollars  —  A  New  Clerk  in  a  Bank  — 
Watching  for  Chances  —  A  Decidedly  Cool  Thief  —  A  Mysterious  Loss 
—  A  Good  Impersonator  —  Watching  a  Venerable  Coupon-Cutter  —  Story 
of  a  Tin  Box  —  Mysterious  Loss  of  a  Bundle  of  Bonds  —  How  the  Loss 
was  Discovered  Three  Months  Afterwards  —  An  Astonished  Old  Gentle- 
man —  A  Clerk  in  an  Ink-Bedabbled  Duster  —  How  the  Game  is  Worked 
in  Country  Banks  —  Unsuspecting  Cashiers  —  Adroit  Rogues  and  Impu- 
dent Rascals  —  A  Polite  Thief. 

FOE  many  years  sneak-thieving  from  banks  flourished  to  an 
alarming  extent  in  New  York  city,  and  under  the  old 
detective  system  it  seemed  impossible  to  put  a  stop  to  this 
form  of  robbery.  In  those  days  notorious  thieves  were  per- 
mitted to  loiter  unmolested  about  the  streets,  and  on  more 
than  one  occasion  it  was  alleged  that  well-filled  cash  boxes 
disappeared  from  bankers'  safes  in  Wall  street  while  detectives 
were  on  watch  outside.  All  this  has  changed.  Well-known 
thieves  no  longer  haunt  that  famous  locality,  and  since  the 
establishment  of  a  sub-detective  bureau  there,  a  few  years  ago, 
not  a  dollar  has  been  stolen  by  professional  criminals  from  any 
of  the  moneyed  institutions  in  this  great  financial  center.  The 
inauguration  also  of  a  patrol  service  by  experienced  detectives 
during  business  hours,  and  the  connecting  by  telephone  of 
banking  institutions  with  the  detective  bureau,  have  been  the 
means  of  putting  a  stop  to  the  operations  of  bank  sneak-thieves. 
Still,  in  other  cities  where  these  precautions  have  not  been  or 

(672) 


HOW   BANK    SNEAK    THIEVES   OPERATE.  073 

cannot  be  adopted,  sneak-thieves  still  cany  on  their  operations 

and  often  reap  rich  rewards.  As  a  rule  hank  sneak-thieves  are 
men  of  education,  pleasing  address,  good  personal  appearance, 

and  are  faultless  in  their  attire.     They  commit  the  most  daring 

thefts  with  astonishing  coolness.  Their  exploits  are  neces- 
sarily made  in  daylight  in  busy  public  places,  and  these  rob- 
bers are  really  more  daring  and  possess  more  nerve  than  the 
bank  burglar  who  prefers  to  work  quietly  under  cover  of 
night.  The  successful  bank-sneak  is  not  an  adept  with  the 
pick-lock,  but  he  possesses  great  presence  of  mind,  a  quick 
eye,  and  unlimited  cheek. 

Generally  not  more  than  three  or  four  of  these  thieves  are 
engaged  in  a  preconcerted  robbery,  and  each  of  them  has  his 
allotted  part  to  perform.  One  must  be  a  careful  lookout,  an- 
other must  be  an  interesting  conversationalist,  and  a  third,  gen- 
erally a  small-sized  man,  is  the  sneak,  who  stealthily  steals  be- 
hind the  counter  and  captures  the  cash-box  or  a  bundle  of 
bonds.  While  some  robberies  are  carried  out  in  a  few  minutes 
after  the  conception  of  the  scheme,  others  have  been  planned 
months  beforehand.  The  rogues  who  prowl  about  bankers' 
and  brokers7  offices  day  after  da}'  are  ever  on  the  watch  for  an 
opportunity  to  make  a  daring  dash  for  plunder.  Their  dress 
and  manner  are  so  like  those  of  an  honest  merchant  or  stock- 
broker that  their  appearance  awakens  no  suspicion  as  to  their 
real  character  or  calling.  They  sometimes  have  the  faculty  of 
worming  themselves  into  good  society,  and  they  often  spend 
their  evenings  in  the  lobbies  of  the  leading  hotels  or  other 
places  where  those  foremost  in  financial  circles  are  in  the  habit 
of  assembling  to  discuss  the  events  of  the  day.  Information 
gathered  in  chance  chats  afterward  proves  of  valuable  assist- 
ance to  the  cunning  sneak-thief  in  the  carrying  out  of  his 
operations.  It  is  during  these  brief  conversations  that  the 
sneak  learns  what  topic  will  most  interest  his  intended  victim. 
All  men  have  their  hobbies,  and  just  as  soon  as  the  sneak-thief 
knows  that  a  certain  banker,  broker,  paying-teller,  or  cashier 
has  a  weakness  for  discussing  any  one  thing  in  particular,  he 
devotes  considerable  tune  to  studying  the  subject  until  he  is 


674  CAREFULLY  LAID  PLOTS. 

able  to  talk  upon  it  properly  and  interestingly.  This  is  one  of 
the  preliminary  steps  in  a  well-planned  robbery.  Next  the 
thieves  make  themselves  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  manner 
in  which  business  is  conducted  in  the  bank  they  are  plotting  to 
pillage.  They  never  ueglect  any  point,  no  matter  how  small 
or  apparently  trivial  it  may  be.  The  exact  time  that  the  clerks 
are  in  the  habit  of  leaving  their  desks  for  dinner,  the  restau- 
rants they  dine  at,  and  the  time  they  are  allowed  for  meals, 
are  all  noted.  These  are  necessary  for  the  success  of  the  un- 
dertaking ;  and  when  at  last  all  the  plans  have  been  perfected, 
the  prize  is  captured  at  a  time  when  there  are  but  few  persons 
around.  There  have  been  exceptions  to  this  rule,  however, 
and  cash-boxes  have  been  successfully  spirited  away  just  at  the 
moment  of  the  receipt  of  some  astounding  financial  intelli- 
gence, and  while  the  office  was  thronged  with  merchants  and 
brokers  discussing  the  startling  news.  Thefts  of  this  sort  re- 
quire but  a  moment  for  inception  and  execution,  and  frequently 
a  daring  scheme  has  been  carried  out  simultaneously  with  the 
opportunity  that  made  the  theft  possible. 

I  recall  an  instance  of  the  great  presence  of  mind  of  this 
class  of  criminals,  from  the  record  of  one  of  the  most  success- 
ful sneak-thieves  I  ever  knew.  There  was  a  heated  discussion 
in  a  broker's  office  one  day  about  the  location  of  a  town  in 
Ohio.  The  noted  robber  "  on  mischief  bent "  slipped  into  the 
place  just  in  time  to  overhear  several  gentlemen  declare  that 
the  town  in  question  was  located  in  as  many  different  counties 
in  that  State.  While  the  argument  progressed  the  wily  thief 
hit  upon  a  plan  that  enabled  him  to  capture  the  cash-box, 
which  temptingly  rested  in  the  safe,  the  door  of  which  was 
open.  Silently  and  quickly  he  left  the  office  unperceived,  and, 
meeting  his  confederate  outside,  sent  him  in  all  haste  to  a  sta- 
tionery store,  with  instructions  to  buy  several  maps,  and  one 
especially  showing  the  counties  and  towns  in  Ohio.  Then  the 
rogue  returned  to  the  broker's  office  to  await  his  opportunity. 
A  few  minutes  later  he  was  followed  by  his  companion  in  the 
role  of  a  map  peddler.  Being  at  first  told  that  no  maps  were 
wanted,  the  cunning  accomplice,  in  a  loud  voice,  said : 


LAUGHABLE   STORIKS.  675 

"Can  I  show  you  a  oew  map,  giving  the  boundaries  of  all 
the  towns  and  counties  in  Ohio  ?" 

The  appeal  was  overheard  by  one  of  the  men  who  had  been 
involved  in  the  recent  discussion.  Telling  the  peddler  to  stop, 
he  at  the  same  time  turned  to  the  other  gentlemen  present  and 
said,  "Now,  boys,  I'll  be1  whatever  you  like  that  the  town  in 
dispute  is  in  the  county  I  said,  and  as  chance  has  brought  us  a 
map  of  Ohio  the  bets  can  be  settled  without  delay."  Several 
bets  were  made,  and  for  a  few  minutes  the  broker's  office  was 
in  a  greater  state  of  excitement  than  it  ever  had  been  before, 
even  in  panic  days.  As  the  peddler  slowly  unrolled  his  bundle 
of  maps  the  brokers  and  the  clerks  crowded  about  him,  anxious 
to  learn  the  result.  The  sneak  took  advantage  of  the  excite- 
ment and  the  crowd  around  his  confederate,  and  made  his  way, 
unnoticed,  to  the  safe.  He  captured  the  cash-box,  containing 
$20,000,  and  escaped  with  it  while  his  partner  was  exhibiting 
the  map. 

Another  professional  sneak,  known  as  a  man  of  great  cool- 
ness and  determination,  and  possessed  of  no  small  degree  of  cour- 
age, is  credited  with  having  entered  a  bank  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  going  behind  the  desk  he  divested  himself  of  his  coat, 
donned  a  duster,  and  installed  himself  as  clerk.  He  coolly 
waited  there  some  time  watching  for  a  chance  to  steal  a  roll  of 
greenbacks,  bonds,  or  anything  valuable  that  he  could  lay  his 
hands  on.  One  of  the  clerks  requested  the  intruder  to  leave, 
but  the  impudent  thief  retorted  by  telling  the  former  to  mind 
his  own  business,  and  also  intimating  that  as  soon  as  his  friend, 
the  president,  arrived,  he  would  have  what  he  pleased  to  call  a 
meddlesome  fellow  properly  punished.  The  clerk,  however,  in- 
sisted upon  the  rogue's  vacating  the  desk,  and  he  finally  did  so 
under  protest.  In  a  seemingly  high  state  of  indignation  the 
robber  left  the  place,  and,  later  on,  the  cashier,  to  his  great  sur- 
prise, discovered  that  he  had  suddenly  and  mysteriously  become 
$15,000  short.  Of  course  the  thief  never  called  a  second  time 
to  explain  the  mystery. 

On  another  occasion  a  bundle  of  bonds  vanished  from  one 
of  the  rooms  in  a  safe-deposit  vault,  and  the  theft  was  not  dis- 


676  ROBBING   AN  AGED   DEPOSITOR. 

covered  until  three  months  after  the  robbery  had  been  commit- 
ted. '  One  of  the  depositors,  an  old  gentleman,  had  called  at 
the  bank  for  the  purpose  of  clipping  off  his  coupons.  He  had 
taken  his  box  out  of  the  compartment  in  which  it  was  kept, 
and  had  gone  into  a  side  room  that  contained  a  table,  where  he 
might  clip  off  the  coupons  undisturbed.  No  one  was  in  the 
room  excepting  himself,  bat  just  as  he  had  finished  his  pleasant 
and  congenial  task  a  man  whom  he  believed  to  be  one  of  the 
clerks  of  the  bank  entered  the  room  for  a  second.  Quietly  tap- 
ping the  old  gentleman  on  the  shoulder  he  suddenly  said,  "  Oh, 
excuse  me,  sir,  I  have  made  a  mistake,"  and  immediately  passed 
out  again.  While  the  aged  depositor  had  turned  to  see  who  it 
was  that  had  tapped  him  on  the  left  shoulder,  the  supposed 
clerk,  who  was  a  professional  sneak,  picked  up  the  bundle  of 
bonds,  which  lay  near  the  former's  right  hand.  It  happened 
that  the  lid  of  the  tin  box  was  down,  and  having  no  suspicion, 
and  supposing  that  he  had  replaced  the  bonds  in  the  box,  the 
old  man  returned  the  empty  receptacle  to  his  compartment. 
Three  months  later,  when  he  again  called  at  the  bank  to  clip 
another  set  of  coupons,  he  discovered  that  his  bonds  were  miss- 
ing and  no  one  was  able  to  account  for  their  disappearance. 

The  robbery,  it  has  been  asserted,  was  effected  in  this  way. 
In  the  safe-deposit  vaults  was  employed  a  clerk  who  was  in 
the  habit  of  wearing  a  buff -colored  duster  much  bedabbled 
with  ink.  On  the  day  of  the  robbery  the  clerk  was  sent  out 
on  an  errand  and  was  away  from  his  desk  for  nearly  half  an 
hour.  During  his  absence  a  sneak-thief  of  his  build,  somewhat 
like  him  in  general  appearance,  and,  like  him,  wearing  an  ink- 
stained  duster,  ran  quickly  down  the  steps,  and  without  excit- 
ing any  suspicion  passed  the  watchman  on  guard  at  the 
entrance  to  the  vaults.  No  one  paid  any  particular  attention 
to  the  robber  as  he  passed  with  brisk  business-like  air  through 
the  several  rooms,  all  supposing  him  to  be  a  clerk.  After  he 
had  captured  the  old  gentleman's  bonds  from  which  the  cou- 
pons had  been  freshly  cut,  the  thief  passed  out  unnoticed  with 
his  booty. 

In  robbing  country  banks,  where  the  clerks  are  few,  and 


HOW   COUNTRY    BANKS   ARE  ROBBED.  077 

where  auring  the  dinner  hour  the  cashier  or  paying-teller  is 
often  the  only  man  left  in  the  institution,  sneaks  have  a  simple 
and  easy  scheme  for  plundering.  One  first  enters  the  bank 
and  engages  the  cashier  or  teller  in  conversation  upon  a  sub- 
ject in  which  the  latter  becomes  deeply  interested.  While  this 
is  going  on  a  carriage  halts  at  the  door,  and  the  driver  is  sent 
in  to  tell  the  official  inside  that  a  gentleman  who  has  hurt  his 
leg  and  is  unable  to  walk  desires  to  speak  to  him  outside  on  a 
matter  of  business.  The  unsuspecting  cashier  or  teller  excuses 
himself  to  his  first  visitor  and  quickly  goes  out  to  speak  to  the 
injured  man.  and  in  his  absence  the  bank  is  ransacked. 

Gangs  of  sneak-thieves  often  travel  all  over  the  country 
with  a  circus  or  wild  beast  show.  In  the  towns  and  small 
cities  the  parade  of  the  performers  creates  considerable  excite- 
ment, and  when  the  cavalcade  passes  a  bank  the  clerks, 
cashiers,  and  paying-tellers  seem  to  forget  themselves  and  run 
to  the  windows  to  look  out.  The  sneak-thieves  take  advan- 
tage of  the  opportunity  and  quietly  slip  into  the  institution. 
In  a  twinkling  their  work  is  complete,  and  before  the  proces- 
sion has  passed  they  have  escaped  with  whatever  they  could 
lay  their  hands  on. 

If,  while  watching  about  a  bank,  a  large  check  is  cashed 
and  the  customer  turns  aside  to  a  desk  to  count  the  money, 
the  rogues  generally  succeed  in  getting  a  portion  of  it.  The 
thief  will  drop  a  bill  on  the  floor  near  his  victim,  and  just  as 
the  man  has  nicely  arranged  his  pile  of  bills  the  thief  will 
politely  tell  him  that  he  has  dropped  some  of  his  money. 
While  the  latter  stoops  to  pick  up  the  greenback,  the  sneak 
will  deftly  steal  a  portion  of  the  cash  upon  the  desk,  and  walk 
off  unquestioned.  They  are  not  greedy  in  ventures  of  this 
sort,  but  they  manage  to  secure  the  booty  with  almost  compar- 
ative safety,  and  are  content.  Heated  altercations  invariably 
follow  thefts  of  this  kind.  After  counting  his  money  the  cus- 
tomer  hurries  back  to  the  teller  and  insists  that  a  mistake  was 
made  and  that  he  is  short.  The  teller  is  equally  positive  that 
he  paid  out  the  proper  amount,  and  in  most  cases  a  disruption 
of  commercial  relations  is  the  culmination  of  the  dispute. 

41 


678  A  WARNING  TO  BANK  MESSENGERS. 

Bank  sneak-thieves  are  not,  however,  confined  to  these 
systems.  They  are  men  of  adaptability,  and  act  at  all  times 
according  to  circumstances.  They  have  been  known  to  rob 
messengers  in  the  street  while  on  their  way  to  a  bank  to  make 
a  deposit.  Some  messengers  always  carry  the  bank-book  in 
their  hand,  with  the  bills  placed  between  the  covers.  The 
ends  of  the  greenbacks  may  extend  beyond  the  length  of  the 
book,  and  these  will  instantly  catch  the  quick  eye  of  an  expe- 
rienced rogue.  While  the  messenger  is  passing  through  a 
crowd  he  will  be  thrown  off  his  guard  by  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  or  a  laughable  remark.  During  that  unguarded 
moment  the  entire  amount  in  the  book  has  been  abstracted, 
and  when  the  messenger  reaches  the  bank  and  finds  the  cash 
gone  he  cannot  imagine  how  it  was  he  lost  it. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

COMMON  HOUSEBREAKERS  —  THIEVES  WHO  LAUGH  AT  LOCKS 
AND  BOLTS  —  RECEIVERS  OF  STOLEN  GOODS  —  HOW  A 
"FENCE"  IS   CONDUCTED. 

Useless  Locks  and  Bolts  —  The  Sneak-Thief  and  His  Methods —Masks  on 
Their  Faces  and  Murder  in  Their  Hearts  —  Faithless  Servants  —  Fright- 
ened Sleepers  —  Criminals  but  Cowards — Scared  Away  by  Hats  —  Dog- 
ging Their  Victims  Home  —  Thefts  of  Diamonds  —  Second-Story  Thieves 
—  Pillaging  Houses  During  the  Supper  Hour  —  Ranks  in  Crime  — 
Hotel  and  Boarding-House  Thieves  —  Unsuspecting  Prey  —  A  Hotel 
Thief s  Tools  and  Methods  —  A  Man  Who  Laughs  at  Bolts  and  Bars  — 
A  Bewildering  Mystery  —  Manipulating  a  Thumb-Bolt  —  Watching  the 
Hotel  Register  —  Disastrous  Female  Vanity  —  Why  the  Boarder  did  not 
go  Down  to  Dinner  —  Prompt  to  Escape  but  Hard  to  Track  —  How 
Stolen  Property  is  Disposed  of  —  Receivers  or  "Fences"  —  Roundabout 
Methods  to  Avoid  Detection. 

THE  housebreaker  and  house-sneak  are  the  most  numerous 
of  the  thieving  fraternity.  Locks  and  bolts  cannot  be  re- 
lied upon  as  protection  against  these  men.  and  there  are  but  few 
dwellings  that  are  proof  against  their  assaults.  It  is  a  popular 
belief  with  most  people  that  their  homes  are  perfectly  secure 
when  the  doors  and  windows  are  fastened.  The  average  sneak 
thief  laughs  at  the  flimsy  barriers,  and  can  undo  every  one  of 
them  with  a  few  simple  instruments  which  he  carries  in  his 
vest  pocket.  Even  the  chain-bolt,  which  has  been  considered 
so  formidable,  is  no  protection  at  all  when  pitted  against  the 
skill  and  science  of  this  class  of  rogues.  When  massive  bank 
vaults  offer  no  serious  obstacles  that  the  trained  and  experienced 
burglar  cannot  overcome,  how  can  it  be  expected  that  ordinary 
contrivances  for  the  security  of  houses  should  be  effectual  { 
While  the  operations  of  bank  burglars  are  comparatively  few 
and  infrequent,  on  account  of  the  multiplied  risks  and  difficul- 
ties to  be  encountered,  a  well-organized  army  of  sneak  thieves 

(679) 


680  NIGHT   ROBBERS  AND   THEIR  WAYS. 

and  housebreakers  carry  on  their  operations  with  a  confidence 
born  'of  repeated  success. 

In  this  army  are  some  daring  and  desperate  rascals,  who 
often  enter  dwellings  in  the  night-time  in  search  of  plunder, 
with  masks  on  their  faces  and  murder  in  their  hearts.  Some- 
times night  robberies  are  planned  beforehand,  but  many  are 
committed  at  haphazard.  From  servants  or  others  employed 
in  or  about  a  residence,  confederates  of  these  thieves  collect 
the  information  they  desire.  The  manner  of  entering  the 
premises  depen'ds  upon  its  internal  arrangements.  In  some 
cases  the  front  basement  door  is  entered  by  a  false  key,  in 
others  the  rogues  climb  up  the  front  of  the  house  and  enter  the 
second-story  window,  and  still  in  others  an  entrance  is  effected 
from  the  rear.  Once  inside,  the  burglar  ransacks  the  apart- 
ments in  which  he  expects  to  obtain  the  most  booty.  He  works 
expeditiously,  going  through  an  occupied  chamber  as  carefully 
as  he  would  an  unoccupied  one.  Often  these  criminals  disturb 
the  sleeper,  but  the  latter  is  generally  so  frightened  at  the 
presence  of  the  robber  that  no  resistance  is  offered.  House- 
breakers are  not  brave  men  by  any  means,  and  only  when  cor- 
nered do  they  become  bold  and  desperate  in  their  anxiety  to 
evade  a  long  sentence.  The  noise  made  by  rats  has  on  more 
than  one  occasion  scared  burglars  away  from  silverware  worth 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  dollars,  which  they  hastily  aban- 
doned after  having  collected  and  packed  it  ready  for  removal. 

Three  or  four  of  these  men  have  been  known  to  band 
themselves  together,  but  it  is  not  uncommon  for  a  desperate 
man  to  work  entirely  on  his  own  hook.  Such  a  thief  was 
killed  by  falling  through  a  house  in  Brooklyn  a  few  years 
since,  who  for  years  before  his  death  took  no  one  into  his 
confidence,  but  planned  and  executed  his  own  robberies.  He 
gathered  all  the  information  that  he  desired  from  the  columns 
of  the  morning  newspapers.  He  made  a  specialty  of  robbing 
young  married  couples  of  their  jewels  and  wedding  presents. 
A  marriage  notice  or  a  report  of  a  wedding  was  the  only  news 
this  rascal  cared  to  read,  and  he  gloated  over  the  announce- 
ment that  the  pair  had  received  costly   presents  from  their 


TAKING  DESPERATE   CHANCES.  G81 

friends.  When  he  ascertained  where  the  couple  had  taken  a 
house,  either  while  they  were  off  on  their  wedding  trip  or  had 
returned  to  housekeeping,  he  hired  an  attic  room  on  the  same 

block,  and  soon  paid  the  newly  wedded  pair  a  midnight 
visit.     Ee  invariably  secured  the  prize  he  was  in  quest  of ,  but 

after  a  long-  career  of  crime  he  died  —  as  most  thieves  do — a 
violent  death.  Becoming  reckless  by  his  success,  he  undertook 
to  ransack  a  house  while  in  a  state  of  intoxication.  He  se- 
cured property  worth  several  thousand  dollars,  and  as  he  was 
carrying-  it  over  the  roof-tops  he  fell  through  a  new  building 
into  the  cellar.  The  groans  of  the  thief  attracted  attention, 
and  he  was  found  with  the  stolen  jewelry  lying  beside  him. 
He  was  seriously  injured  and  was  removed  to  a  hospital,  where 
he  died  next  day. 

Another  well-known  housebreaker  was  in  the  habit  of  at- 
tending all  the  fashionable  balls.  He  never  went  there  for 
pleasure,  but  always  on  business.  The  rogue,  with  envious 
eyes,  watched  the  ladies  bedecked  with  expensive  jewelry  and 
wearing  necklaces  and  pins  set  with  brilliants.  He  had  but 
little  difficulty  in  ascertaining  the  names  and  addresses  of  the 
wearers  of  the  diamonds.  When  the  ball  was  over  he  would, 
with  the  assistance  of  a  companion,  dog  his  intended  victims 
to  their  homes.  He  would  keep  a  constant  watch  upon  the 
house  or  its  inmates  for  several  days,  and  if  in  the  meantime 
the  jewels  had  not  been  taken  to  a  safe-deposit  vault,  the  rob- 
ber would  conclude  that  the  lady  was  in  the  habit  of  keeping 
her  valuables  in  the  house.  When  the  opportunity  offered, 
the  thief,  under  some  pretext  or  other,  would  make  his  way 
into  the  premises  in  search  of  the  diamonds  or  jewelry  he 
had  first  seen  in  the  ballroom,  and  he  generally  succeeded  in 
getting  them. 

"Second-story"  thieves  are  another  order  of  criminals. 
After  locating  a  house  that  they  intend  to  rob  in  the  early 
evening,  they  watch  until  the  family  are  down-stairs  at  din- 
ner. Then  a  young  man,  with  the  agility  of  a  cat,  crawls  up 
the  front  of  the  dwelling,  and  enters  the  second-story  win- 
dow.    He  rifles  all  the  rooms  in  the  upper  part  of  the  house  in 


682  HOUSE  AND   HOTEL  THIEVES. 

a  few  minutes,  .and  with  the  booty  noiselessly  descends  the 
stairs'  and  leaves  the  house  by  the  front  door.  In  several 
cases,  however,  the  robber  has  been  known  to  drop  the  prop- 
erty out  of  a  front  window  to  his  confederates  on  the  street. 
This  is  only  done  when  he  has  become  alarmed  by  hearing 
footsteps  on  the  stairs,  and  is  forced  to  retreat  in  the  same 
manner  that  he  entered  the  premises. 

Other  thieves,  who  also  pillage  houses  during  the  supper 
hour,  pick  the  lock  of  the  front  door  and  steal  in  without  mak- 
ing any  noise.  They  wear  rubbers  or  woolen  shoes,  and  occa- 
sionally succeed  in  making  large  hauls.  Then  there  are  the  sev- 
eral types  of  sneaks  who,  under  all  sorts  of  pretexts,  manage  to 
get  inside  of  a  dwelling  for  a  few  minutes  without  attracting 
attention,  and  remain  just  long  enough  to  steal  whatever  they 
can  lay  their  hands  upon.  Some  of  these  go  about  as  peddlers, 
piano-tuners,  health  and  building  inspectors,  sewing-machine  or 
insurance  agents,  and  in  various  other  roles.  They  do  not  con- 
fine their  operations  to  apartment-houses  or  dwellings,  but  also 
rob  business  buildings  in  the  daytime.  Cash,  jewelry,  and  valu- 
ables is  the  plunder  most  sought  by  the  leading  professional 
rogues  of  this  class,  but  those  of  the  lower  grades  seem  to  be 
satisfied  with  more  bulky  plunder.  Young  men  make  the  most 
daring  house  thieves,  but  in  the  ranks  may  be  found  old  crimi- 
nals who  have  passed  the  best  years  of  their  life  in  crime. 

The  class  of  thieves  devoting  themselves  to  robbing  rooms 
in  hotels  and  in  fashionable  boarding-houses  operate  according 
to  circumstances,  and  always  have  their  wits  about  them  for 
any  unexpected  emergency.  The  successful  ones  are  men  of 
respectable  appearance,  good  address,  and  cool  and  daring  fel- 
lows. Some  follow  their  nefarious  vocation  only  in  the  morn- 
ing, others  in  the  afternoon,  and  still  others  operate  at  night. 
In  their  methods  of  procedure  each  of  these  subdivisions  has 
other  distinguishing  peculiarities.  A  great  deal  of  ingenuity  in 
getting  into  rooms  is  not  infrequently  shown  by  these  men, 
who  are  ever  ready  to  take  desperate  chances. 

Until  he  has  accomplished  his  purpose,  the  hotel  thief  pur- 
sues his  prey  from  one  hotel  to  another  with  a  persistency  that 


USELESS  LOCKS  AND  BOLTS.  683 

knows  no  faltering.  When  he  Las  squandered  his  ready  cash 
in  riotous  living,  and  his  treasury  nerds  replenishing,  lie  makes 
it  his  business  to  scan  the  newspapers  carefully,  and  keep  him- 
self posted  on  the  latest  arrivals,  the  rooms  the}^  occupy,  and 
other  data  of  interest.  The  coming  and  going  of  professionals, 
particularly  female  theatrical  stars,  salesmen,  bankers,  and  bri- 
dal parties,  and  all  persons  likely  to  carry  valuable  jewelry  and 
trinkets,  or  a  large  amount  of  money,  are  objects  of  his  special 
solicitude. 

When  the  unsuspecting  prey,  fatigued  by  travel,  gives  proof 
of  his  unconsciousness  by  deep,  stertorous  breathing,  the  hotel 
thief  steals  silently  from  his  hiding-place.  A  slight  push  may 
let  him  into  the  apartment,  or  it  may  be  necessary  to  use  a 
gimlet  and  a  small  piece  of  crooked  wire  to  slide  back  the  bolt, 
or  a  pair  of  nippers  to  turn  the  key  left  in  the  lock  on  the  inside 
of  the  door.  Sometimes  as  many  as  a  dozen  rooms  in  the  same 
hotel  have  been  plundered  in  one  night,  and  none  of  the  watch- 
men saw  or  heard  the  thief.  The  hotel  thief  can  carry  his  en- 
tire outfit  in  his  vest  pocket  and  can  laugh  in  his  sleeve  at  com- 
mon bolts  and  bars. 

The  shooting  back  of  the  old-fashioned  slide-bolt  from  the 
outside  of  the  apartment  was  for  many  years  a  bewildering 
mystery.  A  piece  of  crooked  wire  inserted  through  the  key- 
hole by  the  nimble  rogue  made  the  bolt  worthless,  and  a  turn 
of  the  knob  was  all  that  was  required  to  open  the  door. 

It  takes  only  a  few  minutes  for  an  expert  hotel  thief  to 
enter  a  room.    Af- 


ter  he  has  reached 
the    door    of    the 


BUBGLABS    KEY   NIPPKUS. 


apartment    1  n 

v  •    -i       ,1  (For  unlocking  a  door  from  the  outside. ) 

which   the   weary 

traveler  is  sleeping  soundly,  he  takes  from  his  pocket  a  pair  of 
slender,  small  nippers,  a  bent  piece  of  wire,  and  a  piece  of  silk 
thread.  These  are  the  only  tools  some  thieves  use.  Insert- 
ing the  nippers  in  the  key-hole,  he  catches  the  end  of  the  key. 
Then  a  twist  shoots  back  the  lock  bolt,  and  another  leaves  the 
key  in  a  position  from  which  it  can  easily  be  displaced.     Should 


684  HOW  HOTEL  GUESTS  ARE  ROBBED. 

the  slumber  of  the  occupant  of  the  room  be  disturbed  by 
the  falling  of  the  key  on  the  carpet  or  floor,  time  is  given  him 
to  fall  asleep  again.  By  pressing  on  the  door  the  thief  next 
locates  the  bolt.  A  piece  of  thread  is  attached  to  the  bent 
point  of  the  wire,  making  a  sort  of  bow ;  and  after  crooking 
the  wire  to  suit,  it  is  pushed  through  the  keyhole  and  carried 
up  or  down  to  the  bolt.  The  looped  head  throws  the  pin  of 
the  bolt  into  place ;  the  string  is  moved  sideways  until  it  grap- 
ples the  pin,  and  the  bolt  is  slid  back  out  of  the  nosing.  The 
door  yields  to  a  slight  pressure,  and  the  completion  of  the  task 
is  deftly  and  expeditiously  performed.  Some  thieves  always 
stop  to  lock  the  room  door  behind  them. 

Many  of  them  spend  their  leisure  time  in  "  fixing "  rooms 
in  hotels.  This  is  necessary  in  first-class  establishments,  where 
the  room  doors  are  provided  with  improved  locks  and  bolts. 
One  of  these,  known  as  the  "  thumb  bolt,"  requires  to  be  tam- 
pered with  beforehand.  The  shrewd  robber,  while  occupying 
a  room  as  a  guest,  prepares  the  lock  so  that  it  will  aid  him  in 
his  future  operations.  Removing  the  screws,  he  takes  off  the 
thumb-plate  and  files  a  slot  in  the  spring-bar.  Then  he  replaces 
the  plate  and  screws,  and  marks  on  the  outside  of  the  door  by 
a  slight  indentation  in  the  woodwork,  or  by  some  other  sign, 
the  exact  point  at  which  to  strike  the  filed  slot  when  the  door 
is  locked.  Returning  on  the  night  of  the  robbery  with  the 
only  tools  necessary  —  a  common  brad-awl  and  a  pair  of  nip- 
pers —  he  pierces  the  soft  wood  at  the  proper  point,  and  then, 
by  pushing  the  awl  further  in,  strikes  the  slot,  and  is  able  to 
noiselessly  turn  the  bolt;  he  then  uses  his  nippers  to  unlock  the 
door.  The  thief  watches  the  hotel  register  and  awaits  his  prey. 
If  some  well-known  person,  in  the  habit  of  wearing  costly  jew- 
els, is  registered  as  occupying  one  of  the  "  fixed  "  rooms,  then 
the  thief  engages  an  apartment  on  the  same  floor,  and  during 
the  night-time  consummates  the  long-planned  crime. 

Another  plan  —  and  the  one  that  is  generally  adopted  by 
rogues  who  prowl  about  hotel  corridors  in  the  daytime  —  is  to 
draw  the  screws  of  the  nosing  of  the  bolt  and  lock.  The  screw- 
holes  are  then  bored  larger,  the  screws  are  replaced  after  being 


SMOOTH  AND   ENTERTAINING   VILLAINS. 


085 


thoroughly  moistened,  and  maintain  a  sufficient  grip  not  to  be 
displaced  by  any  ordinary  jar.    When  the  wood  becomes  dry 

the  door  can   be  easily  forced  in  without  trouble  or  the  lea s1 
danger  from  noise. 

The  boarding-house  thief  is  always  a  smooth  and  entertain- 
ing talker,  who  invariably  makes  acquaintances  in  new  quarters 

in  short  order.     In  a  pleasant  chat   with  the  inquisitive  land- 
lady he  generally  succeeds  in  gleaning  all  the  information  he 


r-D 


FALSE   AND   SKELETON  KEYS  TAKEN   FROM   HOUSE   THIEVES. 

desires  about  the  other  guests  in  the  house.  Most  women  are 
fond  of  displaying  their  jewels  and  valuables  at  fashionable 
boarding-houses.  While  amusing  his  newly-made  acquaintances 
with  his  laughable  stories,  the  astute  robber  is  at  the  same  time 
making  a  thorough  survey.  His  covetous  eyes  never  miss  the 
flash  of  diamonds,  and  should  he  be  in  doubt  as  to  their  genu- 
ineness he  has  only  to  speak  of  the  matter  to  one  of  the  friends 
of  the  wearer,  and  he  will  be  told  when  and  where  they  were 
bought  and  the  price  paid  for  them. 

After  the  rogue  has  secured  a  full  inventory  of  the  jewels 


68G  RECEIVERS   OF   STOLEN  GOODS. 

and  valuable  trinkets  kept  in  the  several  rooms  of  the  house, 
he  is  ready  for  business,  and  simply  awaits  opportunity.  While 
the  other  guests  are  at  breakfast  or  dinner  he  remains  up  stairs, 
and  the  thorough  manner  in  which  he  rummages  the  several 
apartments  in  so  short  a  time  is  surprising.  Before  his  victims 
have  finished  their  morning  or  evening  meal  the  thief's  work  is 
complete,  and,  with  well-filled  valise,  he  slips  unnoticed  out  of 
the  house.  Probably  before  the  robbery  is  discovered  he  is  on 
board  a  train  speeding  his  way  to  some  other  city  to  dispose  of 
his  plunder  and  resume  his  career  of  crime.  Thieves  of  this 
sort  are  troublesome  to  track,  but  when  run  down  at  last  there 
is  no  end  to  the  number  of  complainants  that  come  forward 
to  prosecute  them. 

Without  a  safe  market  for  his  ill-gotten  property  the  busi- 
ness of  the  burglar  and  thief  would  be  unprofitable.  The  buy- 
ing of  stolen  goods  is  not  a  crime  of  recent  origin,  but  dates 
back  to  the  very  beginning  of  thievery.  A  receiver  of  stolen 
property  is  known  among  criminals  as  a  "  fence."  Receivers 
have  their  grades  and  classes.  Some  make  it  a  business  to  pur- 
chase only  bonds  and  securities ;  others  purchase  diamonds  and 
jewelry ;  others  buy  silks  and  costly  dry-goods ;  and  still  others 
buy  plunder  of  any  description.  The  receiver  in  the  habit  of 
handling  bonds  and  securities  could  not  be  induced  to  risk  a 
speculation  in  bulky  plunder.  These  offenders  are  extremely 
careful  in  their  negotiations  with  professional  rogues.  They 
place  but  little  faith  in  the  word  of  a  thief,  and  are  naturally 
suspicious  of  all  persons  with  whom  they  have  any  dealings. 
After  a  large  robbery  the  burglars  do  not,  as  is  generally  sup- 
posed, cart  the  plunder  to  the  house  or  store  of  the  receiver. 
Instead,  they  quietly  remove  it  to  a  safe  place  of  storage,  gen- 
erally in  some  neighboring  city  or  town.  Wives  whose  hus- 
bands are  undergoing  imprisonment  are  invariably  made  the 
custodians  of  loot.  The  burglars  have  confidence  in  these 
women,  and  so  have  the  receivers.  The  booty  is  conveyed  to 
their  apartments  in  trunks  and  does  not  attract  any  attention. 
When  it  has  been  placed  in  charge  of  the  wife  of  an  imprisoned 
confederate,  the  "  fence  "  is  notified,  and  samples  of  the  goods 


687 

are  submitted  for  the  receiver's  inspection.  Should  he  desire 
an  examination  of  all  the  property  he  sends  a  trusted  appraiser 

to  look  it  over;  and  should  it  prove  to  he  as  represented,  a  set- 
tlement is  effected,  and  the  trunks  are  reshipped  to  the  rooms 

of  another  thiefs  wife.  The  hitter's  unlucky  husband  who  is 
"doing  time"  was  perhaps  a  favorite  with  the  receiver,  and 

the  woman  is  always  a  willing  party  to  transactions  of  this 
sort.  Receivers,  while  they  rarely  pay  more  than  one-fourth 
of  the  value  of  the  stolen  article,  run  no  risks.  They  never 
make  a  settlement  with  the  thieves  until  the  proceeds  of  the 
robbery  have  been  removed  a  second  time,  and  to  a  place  the 
location  of  which  the  gang  they  are  dealing  with  knows  noth- 
ing at  all  about.  There  are  two  reasons  why  the  receiver  is  so 
careful  and  keeps  the  final  hiding-place  a  profound  secret  from 
the  rogues.  One  is  because  he  fears  treachery  at  the  hands  of 
the  robbers,  and  the  other  because  he  does  not  desire  to  incur 
any  loss.  In  event  of  the  stolen  goods  being  seized  in  transit 
from  the  storage-place  of  the  thieves  to  that  of  the  receiver,  the 
loss  falls  upon  the  former.  The  other  reason  is  to  prevent 
them,  should  there  be  any  bickering  as  to  the  price,  from  be- 
traying the  buyer.  The  simple  testimony  of  the  self-confessed 
thief  that  he  sold  the  stolen  goods  to  a  certain  person  would  be 
of  no  value  in  a  legal  sense  without  the  corroborative  proof  of 
the  seizure  of  the  plunder.  On  account  of  the  receiver's  guarded 
manner  of  doing  business  this  is  never  possible,  and  the  moment 
that  the  goods  come  into  his  possession  all  tags  and  marks  that 
would  lead  to  their  identification  are  removed  and  destroyed. 

Receivers  in  large  cities  are  able  to  conduct  their  nefarious 
transactions  without  much  danger  of  detection.  To  conceal 
their  shady  speculations  they  engage  in  some  legitimate  busi- 
ness, and  conduct  a  fancy-goods  or  jewelry  store  in  a  business 
district  and  on  apparently  strict  and  honest  business  principles. 
These  are  the  class  that  purchase  from  shoplifters,  pickpockets, 
and  dishonest  employees.  To  watch  the  patrons  of  these  stores 
would  be  a  task  that  would  yield  but  meagre  results.  Profes- 
sional criminals  shun  these  places,  and  the  men  and  women 
who  sell  the  proceeds  of  their  pilferings  to  such  receivers  are 


688 


HOW  DETECTION  IS  AVOIDED. 


only  petty  thieves.  While  seemingly  purchasing  some  article 
and  earnestly  talking  with  the  proprietor  about  its  price,  the 
thief  is  really  making  a  bargain  for  its  sale.  He  never  car- 
ries on  his  negotiations  in  the  presence  of  a  stranger.  The 
goods  bought  by  the  receiver  under  such  conditions  are  never 
offered  for  sale  in  these  places,  but  are  disposed  of  to  other  un- 
scrupulous shopkeepers  and  peddlers,  who  loudly  and  constantly 
boast  of  their  own  honesty. 

There  is  a  class  of  receivers  that  is  constantly  on  the  look- 
out for  "  bargains,"  to  whom  pickpockets  and  sneak  thieves  can 
safely  dispose  of  stolen  watches  and  trinkets  at  prices  much 
below  their  intrinsic  worth.  The  establishments  of  pawn- 
brokers, who  advance  loans  on  jewelry  and  clothing,  are  gen- 
erally patronized  by  young  rogues  with  whom  "  my  uncle  " 
drives  sharp  bargains.  Old  rogues,  by  melting  watch-cases, 
run  but  little  chance  of  detection,  and  net  a  large  profit  by  the 
sale  of  the  metal  to  reputable  firms.  A  smart  receiver  who 
deals  in  stolen  jewelry  reduces  all  small  articles  of  jewelry  into 
metal  as  soon  as  bought.  The  most  annoying  class  are  the 
second-hand  dealers,  who  buy  and  sell  stolen  wearing-apparel. 
They  invariably  have  friends  in  another  city,  so  that  as  soon  as 
plunder  has  been  bought  it  is  at  once  shipped  away  to  be  dis- 
posed of  elsewhere. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  ROGUES'  GALLERY— WHY  THIEVES  ARE  PHOTOGRAPHED 

—  TELL-TALE  SIGNS— PE<  DLIARTTIES  OF  CRIMINALS. 

"Where  Have  I  Seen  That  Man  Before?"  — Who  is  it?  — A  Sudden  Look 
of  Recognition— A  Notorious  Burglar  in  Fashion's  Throng  — A  Swell- 
Cracksman— The  Rogues'  Gallery  — Its  Object  and  its  Usefulness  — 
How  Criminals  Try  to  Cheat  the  Camera  — How  Detectives  Recognize 
Their  Prey  —  Ineffaceable  Tell-Tale  Signs  — The  Art  of  Deception  — 
Human  Vanity  Before  the  Camera —Slovenly  Criminals  — Flash  Crimi- 
nals—The Weaknesses  of  Criminals  — Leading  Double  Lives  — A  Strange 
Fact  — Criminals  Who  are  Model  Husbands  and  Fathers  at  Home- 
Some  Good  Traits  in  Criminals  — Mistaken  Identity —Peculiarities  of 
Dress  — A  Mean  Scoundrel  — Picking  Pockets  at  Wakes  and  Funerals 
—  A  Solemn  Looking  Pair  of  Precious  Rascals  —  The  Lowest  Type  of 
Criminals — Placing  People  Where  They  Belong. 

WHERE,  it  does  not  matter,  but  in  a  fashionable  place  of 
amusement  which  blazed  with  light  and  was  radiant 
with  the  shimmer  of  silks,  the  flash  of  jewels,  and  the  artificial 
glories  with  which  wealth  and  fashion  surround  themselves,  a 
tall,  well-dressed  man  was  standing,  with  a  lady  on  his  arm. 
waiting  till  the  outgoing  throng  gave  him  exit.  A  judge  of 
the  Supreme  Court  was  just  behind  him,  and  at  his  elbow  was 
a  banker  whose  name  is  powerful  on  Wall  Street.  With  suave 
manners,  a  face  massive  and  intelligent,  and  apparel  in  unex- 
ceptionable taste,  there  was  yet  something  about  the  man  that 
recalled  other  and  strangely  remote  associations.  It  certainly 
was  not  the  dress  or  attitude  or  air  that  seemed  familiar.  Nor 
was  it  the  quick,  sharp  eyes  that  lighted  up  and  seemed  indeed 
the  most  notable  features  of  the  countenance.  Xor  could  it 
be  the  neatly  trimmed  whiskers  or  the  somewhat  sallow  cheeks 
they  covered.  And  certainly  no  suggestion  of  recognition 
could  lie  in  the  thin  hair,  carefully  brushed  back  from  a  fore- 
head that  bulged  out  into  knobs  and  was  crossed  by  some  deep 

(689) 


690 

lines.  But  yet,  as  that  same  forehead  was  bowed  for  a  moment, 
what  .was  there  in  it  that  recalled  something,  —  a  man,  or  a 
statue,  or  a  picture  ? 

In  a  moment  the  head  was  erect  again,  the  face  smiling, 
and  in  the  change  the  fancied  familiarity  melted  but  did  not 
die  away.  It  was  still  there,  and  for  a  moment  it  was  intensi- 
fied as  a  sudden  look  of  recognition,  a  look  that  had  a  flash  of 
malice  in  it,  came  into  the  sharp  eyes  which  had  caught  mine 
as  I  stood  by  the  entrance  watching  him.  This  elegant  and 
courtly  gentleman  was  a  professional  criminal,  and  was  last 
sentenced  for  burglary. 

A  burglar !  This  prim,  genteel,  thoughtful-looking  person- 
age ?  He  would  be  a  minister  or  merchant  or  physician  at  the 
first  glance  to  nine  men  out  of  ten.  Here  in  the  flare  of  the 
gaslight,  in  the  heart  of  fashion,  with  a  judge  at  his  back  and  a 
millionaire  at  his  elbow  —  a  burglar  ?  Not  low-browed,  sullen, 
with  a  stealthy  glance  and  hunted  air,  —  not  at  all  as  fancy  and 
romance  have  pictured  him,  but  holding  his  head  as  high  as  his 
judicial  and  capitalist  neighbors.  And  with  that  recognition, 
memory,  faithful  to  the  impression  that  bulging  forehead  and 
its  deep  lines  had  wrought,  recalled  a  wooden  frame  with  a  pho- 
tograph enclosed  in  it,  —  a  photograph  of  a  bowed,  distorted 
face,  through  whose  half-closed  eyelids  two  small  specks  seemed 
to  glare  maliciously,  surmounted  by  a  forehead  with  two  knobs 
and  some  black  lines  upon  it.  That  was  it.  The  photograph 
was  this  man's  portrait,  and  the  place  where  it  hung  was  the 
Rogues'  Gallery. 

In  that  does  the  usefulness  of  the  Rogues'  Gallery  lie. 
Tnere  are  people  who  look  at  the  pictures  and  say :  "Of  what 
good  can  these  twisted  and  unnatural  faces  be  ?  Were  their 
owners  met  in  the  streets,  their  countenances  would  be  com- 
posed and  altogether  free  of  these  distortions  by  which  they 
have  tried  to  cheat  the  purpose  of  the  police  in  photographing 
them."  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  no  one  would  know 
them.  The  very  cleverest  criminals  who  have  distorted  their 
features  into  a  false  physiognomy  for  the  camera  have  made 
their  grimaces  in  vain.     The  sun  has  been  too  quick  for  them, 


=  s     i 'm 


HOW   CRIMINALS   aki:    RECOGNIZED. 

and  has  imprisoned  the  lines  of  the  profile  and  the  features,  and 
caught  certain  peculiarities  that  could  not  he  disguised,  There 
is  not  a  portrait  in  the  Rogues'  Gallery  but  has  some  marked 

characteristics  by  which,  i!'  studied  in  detail,  one  can  identify 
the  man  who  sat  for  it.  A  genera]  idea  of  the  looks  of  a  per- 
son derived  from  one  of  these  picturesmay  be  very  misleading. 

The  criminal  himself  will  try  to  make  it  so  by  resorting  to  every 
possible  means  to  alter  his  appearance.  He  can  grow  or  shave 
off  a  beard  or  mustache,  he  can  change  the  color  of  either,  or 
he  may  become  full-faced  or  lantern-jawed  in  time.  But  the 
skilled  detective  knows  all  this,  and  looks  for  distinguishing 
marks  peculiar  to  his  subject.  It  was  the  bulging  brow  and 
the  deep  lines  of  the  forehead  that  revealed  the  identity  of  the 
well-dressed  burglar  in  the  fashionable  throng.  It  did  not  mut- 
ter much  what  disguise  he  assumed.  These  ineffaceable  pecu- 
liarities would  remain  as  tell-tale  signs  that  could  always  be 
recognized. 

Detectives  frequently  succeed  in  singling  out  criminals  who 
have  tried  every  device  to  deceive  the  camera,  and  often  the 
very  men  who  have  gone  to  the  most  trouble  to  make  their  pic- 
tures useless  have  been  betrayed  by  them.  Here  is  one  with  his 
face  screwed  up  like  a  nutcracker;  he  thought  that  he  could 
play  the  sneak  without  any  one  identifying  him  by  this  photo- 
graph. But  he  made  a  mistake,  like  the  rest.  So  did  this 
one  who  is  grinning  down  from  the  corner  there,  with  his  head 
away  hack  and  his  features  grotesquely  distorted;  but  he  could 
not  get  the  best  of  the  sun,  and  the  camera  caught  enough  of 
him  to  furnish  a  ready  means  of  identification. 

But  photographs  must  not  be  considered  merely  as  por- 
traits when  criminals  are  to  be  identified  by  them.  In  some 
cases,  however,  they  are  quite  sufficient.  The  old  dodge  of 
distorting  the  features  is  not  often  attempted  nowadays. 
When  we  have  a  man  with  a  strong  case  against  him,  he  knows 
that  his  portrait  in  some  shape  or  other  must  be  added  to  the 
gallery,  and  he  also  knows  that  it  is  absurd  to  try  and  defeat 
the  purposes  of  justice.  That  makes  him  resigned  to  his  fate, 
and  all  our  recent  photographs  are  good  ones.     We   always 


694 


A  LIFE  OF  DECEPTION. 


aim  tp  have  the  best  we  can  get,  for  photography  has  been  an 
invaluable  aid  to  the  police. 

The  Rogues'  Gallery  and  Criminal  Directory  in  New  York 
is  the  most  complete  in  the  country.  There  are  numbers  of 
instances  where  a  criminal  appears  in  public  under  circum- 
stances far  different  from  those  under  which  he  is  brought  to 
police  Headquarters.  The  burglar  before  mentioned  is  a  good 
example  of  what  a  swell-cracksman  may  look  like  when  he  has 
the  means  and  taste  to  dress  himself  in  fashionable  clothes. 


STILETTOES   AND   KNIVES   TAKEN   FKOM   CRESILNALS. 

(From  the  Museum  of  Crime.) 

There  are  scores  of  men  and  women  whose  appearance  in  the 
streets  gives  no  hint  of  their  real  character.  Deception  is 
their  business,  and  they  study  its  arts  carefully.  It  is  true 
there  are  criminals  brought  to  Headquarters  who  even  in 
sitting  for  a  photograph  for  the  Kogues'  Gallery  show  a  weak- 
ness to  appear  to  advantage,  and  adjust  dress,  tie,  and  hair 
with  as  much  concern  as  if  the  picture  was  intended  for  their 
dearest  friends.  I  have  seen  women  especially  whose  vanity 
cropped  out  the  moment  the  camera  was  turned  on  them. 
But  that  is  infrequent,  and  one  must  look  for  the  faces  seen 
in  the  Rogues'  Gallery  in  other  shapes  and  with  other  accom- 
paniments than  those  that  appear  in  a  photograph. 

All  criminals  have  their  weaknesses.     The  lower  class  of 
them  spend  their  money  in  the  way  their  instincts  dictate. 


MEN    WHO    LEAD   DOUBLE   LIVES. 


C95 


Some  are  slovenly  hulks  of  fellows  who  pride  themselves  on 
shabbiness,  and  to  them  shabbiness  is  a  part  of  their  business. 
Then  there  are  others  of  the  flashy  order  who  run  into  ex- 
tremes in  dress,  and  copy  the  gamblers  and  variety-theatre 
performers  in  their  attire.  But  Ijiere  are  many  —  and  they 
are  of  the  higher  and  more  dangerous  order  of  criminals  — 
who  carry  no  suggestion  of  their  calling  about  them.  Here 
is  where  the  public  err.  They  imagine  that  all  burglars  look 
like  Bill  Sykes  and  Flash  Toby  Crackit,  whereas  the  most 
modest  and  most  gentlemanly  people  they  meet  may  be  faith- 
ful representatives  of  these  characters. 

Nearly  all  great  criminals  lead  double  lives.  Strange  as  it 
may  appear,  it  is  a  fact  that  some  of  the  most  unscrupulous 
rascals  who  ever  cracked  a  safe  or  turned  out  a  counterfeit 
were  at  home  model  husbands  and  fathers.  In  a  great  many 
cases  wives  have  aided  their  guilty  partners  in  then-  villainy, 
and  the  chil-  -—^ 
d  r  e  n ,  too, 
have  taken  a 
hand  in  it. 
But  all  sug- 
gestion of  the 
criminal's 
calling  was 
left     outside 

the  front  door.  The  family  of  a  notorious  and  dangerous  forg- 
er lived  quietly  and  respectably,  mingled  with  the  best  of  people, 
and  were  well  liked  by  all  who  met  them.  Another  equally  dan- 
gerous criminal  who  was  found  dead  near  Yonkers,  probably 
made  away  with  by  his  associates,  was  a  fine-looking  man  with 
cultured  tastes  and  refined  manners.  Others  would  pass  for 
honest  and  industrious  mechanics,  and  more  than  one  of  them 
has  well  provided  for  his  old  mother  and  his  sisters.  I  recall 
one  desperate  fellow  who  paid  for  his  two  little  daughters' 
education  at  a  convent  in  Canada,  from  which  they  were  grad- 
uated well-bred  and  bright  young  ladies,  without  ever  a  sus- 
picion of  their  father's  business  reaching  them.      This  same 

43 


SAND-BAGS   AND   6LUNG-SHOTS   TAKEN   FROM   CRIMINALS. 
(From  the  Museum  of  Crime.) 


GAGS   TAKEN   FROM  BURGLARS. 
( From  the  Museum  of  Crime. ) 


696  HOW    THIEVES   AND   BURGLARS   DRESS. 

thing  has  been  done  by  some  of  the  hardest  cases  we  have  to 
contend  with.  One  of  the  most  noted  pickpockets  in  the 
country  had  children  whose  education,  dress,  and  manners 
won  general  admiration.  There,  is  nothing  to  mark  people  of 
that  stamp  as  a  class.  ^ 

Nor  is  physiognomy  a  safe  guide,  but  on  the  contrary  it  is 
often  a  very  poor  one.  In  the  Rogues'  Gallery  may  be  seen 
photographs  of  rascals  who  resemble  the  best  people  in  the 

country,  in  some  in- 
stances sufficiently  like 
personal  acquaintances 
to  admit  of  mistaking 
one  for  the  other, 
which,  by  the  way,  is 
no  uncommon  occur- 
rence. It  is  easy  for  a 
detective  to  pick  up  the  wrong  man.  Time  and  again  I  have 
seen  victims  of  thieves,  when  called  upon  in  court  to  identify 
a  prisoner  seated  among  a  number  of  onlookers,  pick  out  his 
captor  or  a  court  clerk  as  the  offender. 

Thieves  generally  dress  up  to  their  business.  I  do  not 
mean  that  they  indicate  their  business  by  their  dress,  but  just 
the  opposite.  They  attire  themselves  so  as  to  attract  the 
least  attention  from  the  class  of  people  among  whom  they 
wish  to  operate.  To  do  this  they  must  dress  like  this  class. 
If  they  are  among  poor  people,  they  dress  shabbily.  If  among 
well-to-do  folks,  they  put  on  style.  If  among  sporting  men, 
they  are  flashy  in  attire.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  escape  notice, 
—  to  meet  a  man  in  conversation  and  yet  leave  no  distinct  im- 
pression of  face  or  personality.  I  remember  one  man  whose 
scarred  cheek  and  missing  eye  would  mark  him  anywhere,  but 
he  managed  to  be  so  sober  in  his  dress  that  no  one  seemed  to 
notice  his  personal  peculiarities.  Another,  a  railroad  pick- 
pocket, excels  in  gaining  confidence  and  yet  leaving  scant 
recollection  of  his  dress  and  features.  One  scoundrel  known 
as  "  the  mourner,"  and  his  wife  had  faces  thoroughly  adapted 
for  their  business,  which  was  to  pick  pockets  at  wakes  and 


LOW  TYPES  OF  CRIMINALS.  007 

funerals,  and  they  were  the  most  solemn-looking  pair  I  ever 
saw. 

River  thieves  and  low  burglars  fill  the  popular  idea  of 
criminals1  appearance,  and  they  are  as  hard-looking  brutes  as 
can  be  found.  So  are  a  good  many  of  the  more  desperate 
fellows.  Nugent,  the  Manhattan  Bank  burglar,  carried  a  good 
deal  of  his  old  business  of  a  butcher  in  his  appearance,  but 
there  was  something  about  him  that  suggested  the  criminal. 
There  are  numbers  of  the  confidence  men,  too,  who  in  spite  of 
their  gentlemanly  dress  and  conversational  powers  look  the 
very  incarnation  of  sharpers.  In  fact,  it  is  unwise  to  judge  by 
appearances,  and  it  is  not  always  safe  to  judge  against  them. 
A  long  experience  of  men  and  their  ways  is  always  needed  to 
place  people  where  they  belong. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

CUNNING  SHOPLIFTERS  AND  SKILLFUL  PICKPOCKETS— FEMALE 
OPERATORS  AND  HOW  THEY  WORK  —  YIELDING  TO 
SUDDEN  TEMPTATIONS. 

A  Congenial  -  Crime  for  Women  —  An  Open  Field  for  the  Shoplifter  —  The 
Shoplifter's  Dress  and  its  Many  Pockets — A  Detective's  Ruse  —  Working 
with  a  Confederate  —  Kleptomaniacs  —  Conscience  Stifled  by  Cupidity  — 
Detection,  and  its  Results  —  An  Adroit  Thief  and  his  Wonderful  Bag  — 
Working  in  Gangs  —  Swallowing  Gems  —  Pickpockets  and  their  Rovings 
—  Personal  Appearance  of  Pickpockets  —  How  a  Woman  lay  Concealed 
for  Years  —  Working  under  a  Shawl  or  Overcoat  —  The  Use  of  the  Knife  — 
An  Overcoat  without  Pockets  —  Robberies  at  Churches  and  Funerals  — 
"Working"  Horse-Cars  and  Railroad  Trains  —  Quarrels  among  Thieves  — 
How  a  Victim  Betrays  Himself  to  the  Gang  —  "  Working  a  Crowd  "  —  A 
Delicate  Touch  —  Signals  between  Confederates  —  Watching  an  Oppor- 
tunity —  Stealing  Watches. 

HOLIDAY  week  in  New  York  city  is  the  shoplifters'  har- 
vest. The  ladylike  and  gentlemanly  pilferers  of  the 
city  know  that  Christmas  offers  abundant  opportunities  for 
plying  their  wicked  trade.  So  the  shoplifter  sallies  forth,  and 
the  pickpocket  wends  his  way,  with  keen  eyes  and  ready  hands 
among  the  throng.  Of  the  shoplifters  who  infest  the  city,  the 
large  majority  are  females.  There  are  various  reasons  for  this. 
The  work  of  shoplifting  is  comparatively,  easy,  it  is  often  re- 
munerative, and  above  all  it  is  congenial.  There  are  few 
ladies  to  whom  a  visit  to  the  stores  and  the  handling  of  the 
rich  and  beautiful  goods  displayed  are  not  joys  which  tran- 
scend all  others  on  earth.  The  female  shoplifter  has  that  touch 
of  nature  left  in  her  which  makes  a  dry-goods  store,  variety 
bazaar,  or  jewelry  establishment,  a  most  delightful  spot  to  exer- 
cise her  cunning. 

In  the  last  few  years,   professionals  of    this  order  have 

(698) 


PROFESSIONAL    F K.MALE   SHOPLIFTERS.  099 

wonderfully  multiplied,  but  their  increase  lias  been  no  more 
than  commensurate  with  that  of  the  metropolitan  bazaars. 
These  places  are  most  preyed  upon,  and  in  them  the  tempta- 
tion to  larceny  is  most  freely  offered.  The  general  exposure 
o!'  the  goods  on  the  counter  or  floor,  the  unceasing  throng,  the 
constant  diversion  for  eye  or  ear  of  watchers, —  all  serve  to 
prepare  an  easy  way  for  the  shoplifter. 

The  clerk's  duties  are  generally  manifold.  Salesman  or 
saleswoman, —  it  is  all  the  same — they  must  take  down  and 
display  wares  for  customers ;  extol  the  quality  of  the  goods ; 
wait  on  half  a  dozen  customers  at  one  and  the  same  time,  and 
through  it  all  answer  a  thousand  idle  questions,  while  all  the 
time  the  endless  throng  are  whirling  past,  and  one  can  have  no 
eyes  for  individual  loungers.  Shoplifters  infest  these  places 
and  have  ample  opportunity  to  ply  their  vocation.  Even  those 
who  are  merely  not  strong  in  resisting  temptation  are  only  too 
liable  to  pick  up  some  stray  trinket  or  bundle  and  walk  off 
with  it. 

Articles  of  value  are  seldom  captured  by  the  shoplifter. 
Dry-goods,  Imgt  rie,  or  cheap  jewelry  are  more  often  taken. 
But  it  is  in  the  great  number  of  such  petty  larcenies  that  the 
losses  to  shopkeepers  chiefly  lie.  The  ordinary  female  dress 
may  be  skillfully  constructed  so  as  to  be  an  expansive  recepta- 
cle for  plunder  of  all  kinds,  and  the  professional  shoplifter  takes 
good  care  that  she  is  prepared  for  her  trip  with  just  such  a 
dress.  Into  it  she  gathers  her  booty,  safely  stores  it,  and,  if 
suspected,  or  even  detected  in  the  act  of  picking  up  an  article, 
she  becomes  highly  indignant,  boldly  subjects  herself  to  an 
immediate  search,  and  nine  times  out  of  ten  the  employee,  who 
is  not  familiar  with  criminal  methods,  misses  the  false  pockets, 
and  is  forced  to  admit  the  offender's  innocence  in  spite  of  the 
evidence  of  his  own  senses.  The  cloak  is  also  a  useful  article  of 
attire  for  the  shoplifter,  and  women  have  concealed  large  quan- 
tities of  goods  under  a  sweeping  outer  garment.  Stolen  rolls 
of  cloth,  costly  dresses,  and  even  sealskin  sacques  have  been 
found  under  them.  One  clever  professional  carried  under  her 
arms  numerous  articles  of  various  sizes  which  it  would  puzzle  a 


700  a  detective's  ruse. 

man  to  carry  about  with  his  outstretched  arms.  Not  long  ago 
a  woman  wearing  a  large  cloak  was  noticed  leaving  one  of  the 
bazaars  on  Fourteenth  Street,  and  a  moment  later  a  clerk  came 
out  saying  that  a  number  of  valuable  bonnets  were  missing.  A 
detective  elbowed  his  way  through  the  crowd  and  overtook  the 
amply-clad  woman.  Afraid  of  making  a  mistake  and  thereby 
subjecting  himself  to  merited  censure  by  making  an  improper 
arrest,  he  conceived  the  ruse  of  stumbling,  and  at  the  same 
instant  raising  one  of  the  suspected  stranger's  arms.  The  trick 
worked  admirably.  The  arm  went  up  like  a  flash,  and  the 
ground  forthwith  was  strewn  with  bonnets.  She  had  nearly 
two  hundred  dollars'  worth  in  the  collection. 

There  are  occasions  when  the  shoplifter  need  not  convert 
herself  into  a  migratory  storehouse.  She  sometimes  has  a  con- 
federate possessing  ready  fingers  and  a  fluent  tongue,  who 
makes  the  circuit  of  the  counters.  The  other  presses  along 
after  her,  gazing  vacantly  around  and  keeping  severely  distant 
from  any  of  the  goods  exposed.  When  her  confederate  has 
slipped  something  out  of  sight  she  conveys  it  adroitly  to  the 
other,  and  the  pair  go  on  again.  If  the  more  clever  operator 
be  detected,  no  more  than  a  single  article  will  be  found  on  her, 
and  she  can  generally  brazen  her  way  out  of  the  predicament 
by  alleging  an  absent  mind  or  some  uncommon  distraction  else- 
where in  the  store. 

There  are  generally  but  two  classes  of  shoplifters  —  the 
regular  criminal  professional  and  the  kleptomaniac.  The  very 
poor  classes  seldom  take  a  hand  in  it.  Poverty  is  held  by  the 
world  to  be  the  badge  of  crime,  and  the  poor  slattern  who  en- 
ters a  store  is  sure  to  be  so  carefully  watched"  that  larceny  is 
next  to  impossible.  The  shoplifter  is  always  a  person  of  fair 
apparel,  and  she  generally  has  a  comfortable  home.  If  she  be 
a  professional  she  may  be  one  of  a  criminal  community,  and 
her  home  may  be  shared  by  others  engaged  in  equally  evil 
ways.  If  she  be  a  kleptomaniac  —  and  in  shoplifting  the  word 
has  peculiar  significance  —  she  is  possibly  a  woman  whose  life 
in  other  respects  is  exemplary.  It  does  seem  strange  that  a 
wife  and  mother  whose  home  is  a  model  one,  who  attends  re- 


YIELDING  TO  SUDDEN  TEMPTATION.  701 

lijnous  service  regularly,  and  who  seems  far  removed  from  the 
world  of  crime,  should  be  so  carried  away  by  her  admiration 
of  some  trinket  or  knick-knack  as  to  risk  home,  honor,  every- 
thing to  secure  it.  But  the  annals  of  metropolitan  offenses  are 
full  of  instances  of  just  this  kind.  It  is  her  fondness  for  finery 
that  nine  times  out  of  ten  gets  her  into  trouble. 

A  woman  leaves  a  happy  and  well-provided  home  for  a 
shopping  tour.  She  buys  the  necessary  articles  she  wants  after 
much  careful  selecting  and  sharp  bargaining.  Then  she  looks 
about  her  and  goes  counter-gazing.  This  is  the  fatal  moment. 
Some  taking  article  —  it  may  only  be  a  trifle  —  catches  her  eye. 
She  has  already  spent  the  contents  of  her  purse,  but  the  new 
object  absorbs  her  attention,  and  every  moment  it  becomes  more 
fascinating.  She  must  have  it.  Then  comes  temptation. 
The  trinket  is  exposed.  There  is  no  one  about,  It  would  be 
such  a  simple  thing  to  take  it.  Conscience,  stifled  by  cupidity, 
is  dormant,  and  the  desire  of  possession  completely  absorbs  her. 
A  moment  more  and  the  article  is  under  her  cloak,  and  all  of  a 
tremble  she  edges  her  way  to  the  door,  half  frightened,  half 
regretful,  yet  wholly  swayed  for  the  time  being  by  the  posses- 
sion of  the  moment's  idol.  Then  comes  detection.  Everything 
rises  to  betray  her  —  her  frightened  glance,  her  sneaking  atti- 
tude, the  closer  clutch  she  has  upon  her  cloak.  .  She  is  accosted, 
questioned,  and  then  every  thought  of  home,  family,  and  the 
disgrace  that  she  has  brought  upon  herself,  rushes  before  her, 
and  she  summons  all  the  pluck  there  is  in  her  poor  fluttering 
heart,  and  denies. 

Fatuous  soul !  She  forgets  that  the  sanctity  which  a  mo- 
ment since  surrounded  her  as  an  honest  woman  is  now  stripped 
from  her.  She  is  searched.  The  stolen  article  is  found  upon 
her,  and  she  stands  there  drooping  and  despairing  —  a  proven 
thief.  Every  year,  over  and  over  again,  is  this  sad  scene  en- 
acted. 

Among  the  real  criminal  set  of  shoplifters  may  be  found 
some  who  are  skillful  in  picking  pockets.  They  are  a  danger- 
ous class,  for  at  no  place  are  opportunities  for  plying  their 
trade  more  irequent  man  m  a  snopping  bazaar.     The  shopper's 


702  MYSTERIOUS   THEFTS. 

attention  is  deeply  engaged  by  a  bewildering  display  of  goods 
dear  to  female  hearts.  Minds  are  full  of  purchases  and  heed- 
less of  pockets.  Satchels  and  purses  are  laid  carelessly  upon 
the  counter.  The  shoplifter  is  always  on  the  alert  for  these 
opportunities  and  is  ever  ready  to  take  advantage  of  them. 
Not  long  since  a  lady  placed  on  a  counter  beside  her  a  well- 
filled  purse.  A  moment  afterwards  she  mechanically  picked 
it  up  again  to  pay  for  a  purchase.  She  opened  it.  There 
was  a  wad  of  paper  in  it.  She  looked  at  it  again.  It  was  not 
her  own,  but  one  that  had  been  adroitly  substituted  for  it. 

.An  unusually  cunning  male  shoplifter  successfully  operated 
for  several  years  by  means  of  a  scheme  that  he  had  devised 
himself.  He  traveled  through  England,  France,  and  other 
European  countries,  leaving  a  trail  of  mysterious  thefts  behind 
him.  Upon  his  return  to  the  United  States  he  was  detected  in 
the  act  of  committing  a  robbery,  and  his  plan  was  exposed. 
Cloth  and  silk  houses  were  his  chosen  fields  of  labor.  He 
invariably  carried  a  large-sized  valise.  The  bottom  of  the  bag, 
which  parted  in  the  middle,  was  movable  and  was  hinged  at 
the  sides.  Near  the  handle  was  a  spring  arrangement  which 
connected  with  the  movable  bottom.  His  plan  was  to  enter  a 
store  while  the  clerks  were  engaged  in  the  rear.  Going  boldly 
up  to  a  counter  he  would  apparently  in  the  most  careless  man- 
ner set  down  his  valise  upon  a  pile  of  goods.  As  he  did  so  he 
would  spring  the  bottom,  and  thus  adroitly  bag  a  roll  of  silk 
or  fine  cloth.  Having  secured  his  booty  he  would  make  a 
small  purchase,  or  ask  one  of  the  clerks  for  the  address  of  an- 
other  firm  in  the  same  line  of  business.  His  appearance  never 
caused  the  slightest  suspicion,  and  the  thief,  until  his  methods 
were  discovered,  always  managed  to  leave  a  store  with  his  grip- 
sack full  of  plunder. 

Two  or  three  shoplifters  have  been  known  to  enter  large 
cloth,  dry-goods,  or  feather  establishments  in  the  morning,  just 
before  opening  time,  while  the  porter  or  clerk  was  sweeping 
the  store.  One  of  the  rogues  would  then  engage  the  single 
unsuspecting  guardian  of  the  store  in  conversation,  and  invari- 
ably succeeded  in  luring  him  to  the  rear  of  the  place.     This 


HOW  JEWELERS  ARE  BOBBED. 

was  the  thieves'  opportunity,  and  when  the  clerk's  back  was 
turned  the  shoplifter's  confederates  were  busy.  In  a  twinkling 
they  would  conceal  as  many  goods  as  they  were  able  to  stuff 
into  false  pockets  in  their  clothes  and  quietly  make  off.  Then 
the  first  man  would  innocently  tell  his  dupe  that  he  would  call 
again. 

A  few  skillful  male  and  female  shoplifters  occasionally  suc- 
ceed in  making  rich  hauls  by  "substitution."  They  operate 
solely  in  jewelry  stoics,  and  have  a  fondness  for  handling  and 
pricing  diamond  rings  and  pins.  In  carrying  out  their  scheme, 
they  visit  a  jewelry  store  and  examine  goods.  A  lapidary  who 
manufactures  paste  rings  and  pins  is  next  visited.  He  is  em- 
ployed to  make  a  substitute  for  the  piece  of  diamond  jewelry 
which  the  shoplifter  intends  stealing.  A  good  description  of 
the  article  wanted  is  given,  and  it  is  soon  finished  by  the 
obliging  lapidary.  Two  or  three  of  the  shoplifters  acting  in 
concert  now  call  at  the  jewelry  store.  While  the  diamonds  are 
again  being  closely  examined,  the  spurious  article  is  deftly 
substituted  for  the  genuine  one.  After  an  extended  and  criti- 
cal examination  the  purchase  is  reluctantly  deferred,  the  jew- 
elry case  is  returned  to  the  show-case  or  safe,  and  it  is  often 
days  before  the  fact  is  discovered  that  a  costly  diamond  ring 
or  pin  has  been  stolen  and  a  paste  one  left  in  its  place.  Shop- 
lifters who  make  a  practice  of  stealing  unset  diamonds  and 
other  precious  stones  sometimes  substitute  spurious  stones  to 
cover  the  theft.  They  have  been  known  to  swallow  the  gems, 
and  when  arrested  on  suspicion  were  able  to  escape  conviction 
by  the  clever  manner  in  which  the  trick  was  performed. 

But  while  the  shoplifters  numerous  depredations  have 
made  people  wary,  and  in  the  aggregate  have  entailed  great 
losses  on  merchants,  their  operations  have  frequently  injured 
unblemished  reputations  and  subjected  tender  feelings  to  great 
suffering.  Most  of  the  large  jewelry  establishments  and  great 
bazaars  now  employ  detectives,  while  others  employ  iloor- 
walkers.  Many  of  these  do  not  possess  the  intelligence  and 
cunning  their  position  demands,  and  serious  mistakes  often 
occur.     Ladies  of  high   social   position   have   time  and  again 


704  PROFESSIONAL  PICKPOCKETS. 

been  accused  of  larcenies  of  which  they  were  entirely  guiltless. 
Some  really  absent-minded  shoppers  have  carried  articles  away 
from  the  counter  utterly  unconscious  of  the  fact  at  the  time. 
Of  course  it  would  require  an  adept  in  psychological  art  to  tell 
the  really  absent-minded  but  honest  woman  from  the  one  who 
pleads  temporary  aberration  of  mind  as  excuse  for  actual 
crime.  The  guilty  have  again  and  again  secured  immunity 
from  punishment  by  a  well-concocted  story  of  forgetfulness. 
And  it  is  equally  certain  that  the  innocent  have  more  than 
once  suffered  for  the  guilty. 

Pickpockets  are  an  interesting  class  of  thieves,  and  among 
the  men  and  women  who  follow  this  particular  line  of  crime 
there  are  many  grades.  The  male  operators  generally  dress 
well  and  display  abundant  jewelry ;  but  the  females,  while  pil- 
laging, generally  appear  in  humble  attire.  Professional  pick- 
pockets are  naturally  great  rovers  and  are  continually  traveling 
from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other  to  attend  large  public 
gatherings.  It  is  in  such  crowds  that  these  desperate  rascals 
most  successfully  practice  their  nefarious  calling.  They  are  to 
be  found  one  day  among  the  assemblage  present  at  the  inaugu- 
ration of  the  President  of  the  United  States,  another  day  at  the 
funeral  obsequies  of  some  distinguished  person,  and  the  next 
week  at  a  country  fair.  At  the  funeral  of  General  Grant  in 
New  York  city  an  army  of  the  light-fingered  fraternity  flocked 
from  all  parts  of  the  country,  expecting  to  reap  a  rich  harvest 
among  the  vast  throng.     However, 

"  The  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  and  men  gang  aft  agley," 

and  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  there  were  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  people  that  day  along  the  route  of  the  funeral  proces- 
sion, not  a  single  watch  or  pocketbook  was  stolen.  Never  be- 
fore in  the  history  of  the  Police  Department  had  there  been 
such  a  clean  record.  The  day  before  the  funeral  all  the  profes- 
sional pickpockets  then  in  the  city  were  arrested  upon  suspi- 
cion, and  the  police  magistrates  held  the  rogues  as  prisoners. 
The  alarm  was  then  raised,  and  hundreds  of  criminals  on  their 
way  to  New  York  gave  up  the  project,  left  the  trains,  and  scat- 


DANGEROUS  FEMALE  OPERATORS.  705 

tered  in  other  directions.  A  few,  however,  who  were  reckless 
enough  to  persist  in  their  schemes,  found  detectives  a  waiting 
them  at  the  several  depots.  They  were  taken  in  charge  and 
were  kept  safely  housed  at  the  Police  Central  Office,  the  vari- 
ous precinct  station-houses,  and  the  Tombs  prison  until  the  fu- 
neral was  over  and  all  the  strangers  had  departed  for  their 
homes.  When  there  was  no  one  to  prey  upon,  the  disgusted 
rogues  were  liberated.  The  effort  made  to  thwart  the  pick- 
pockets upon  that  occasion  was  a  bold  one,  but  the  end  certainly 
justified  the  means. 

Of  professional  pickpockets  there  are  many  types.  Odd 
are  the  notions  that  some  people  entertain  of  the  personal 
appearance  of  criminals  of  this  class.  Some  believe  them  to  be 
a  forbidding  and  suspicious-looking  lot  of  cut-throats,  but  on 
the  contrary  they  are  very  like  ordinary  individuals,  and, 
unless  their  faces  are  known,  their  appearance  or  dress  would 
never  excite  curiosity.  Still,  between  the  several  classes  of 
operators  there  is  a  striking  difference.  The  pickpocket,  either 
male  or  female,  who  dexterously  abstracts  a  purse  or  captures 
a  watch  or  diamond  pin  on  any  of  the  principal  thoroughfares, 
in  a  street-car,  railroad  train,  or  church,  does  not  in  any  way 
resemble  the  person  who  will  perform  the  same  operation  in 
a  side  street  or  at  a  public  gathering.  Those  who  seek  only 
large  plunder  are  entertaining  conversationalists  and  easy  in 
their  manners.  They  are  generally  self-possessed  fellows  and 
are  dexterous  and  cautious  operators.  Women  make  the  most 
patient  and  dangerous  pickpockets.  Humble  in  their  attire, 
and  seemingly  unassuming  in  their  demeanor,  without  attract- 
ing any  notice  or  particular  attention,  they  slip  into  an  excited 
crowd  in  a  store  or  in  front  of  a  shop-window.  Their  quick 
eye  and  delicate  touch  will  without  difficulty  locate  the  resting- 
place  of  a  well-filled  purse.  That  discovered,  they  follow  the 
victim  about  until  the  proper  opportunity  presents  itself  to 
capture  the  prize.  Sometimes  they  go  off  on  thieving  excur- 
sions in  pairs,  but  an  expert  female  pickpocket  invariably  pre- 
fers to  work  alone.  The  latter  class  are  difficult  to  run  down. 
Men,  after  committing  a  large  theft,  are  in  nearly  all  instances 


706  A  PATIENT   THIEF. 

extravagant  and  reckless,  but  women  are  generally  the  reverse, 
and  are  careful  of  the  money  they  have  stolen.  Should  they 
have  reason  to  feel  that  they  are  suspected  they  will  remain 
concealed  for  a  long  time. 

There  is  on  record  the  case  of  a  female  pickpocket  who 
after  capturing  a  pocketbook  containing  thousands  of  dollars 
in  greenbacks,  became  aware  that  she  was  suspected  and  suc- 
ceeded in  eluding  arrest  until  the  only  witness  against  her  had 
died.  The  day  following  the  robbery,  the  thief,  who  was  well 
advanced  in  years  and  was  possessed  of  an  excellent  education, 
entered  a  religious  institution  under  an  assumed  name.  After 
telling  a  plausible  and  sad  story  of  her  unhappy  marriage  to 
a  drunkard,  she  finally  gained  admission  to  the  Home.  Her 
conduct  there  was  exemplary,  and  she  remained  for  years.  At 
last  she  read  of  the  death  of  the  wealthy  lady  whose  pocket- 
book  she  had  stolen,  and  the  cunning  pickpocket,  aware  that 
the  danger  of  conviction  for  the  larceny  had  passed,  vanished 
from  the  Home  and  returned  to  her  old  trade.  There  are 
other  instances  illustrative  of  the  care  with  which  women 
avoid  detection  that  are  on  a  par  with  the  one  mentioned. 

Pickpockets  who  pursue  their  calling  under  cover  of  a 
shawl  or  overcoat  carried  carelessly  over  one  arm,  invariably 
the  left  one,  generally  take  a  seat  in  the  car  on  the  right  side 
of  the  person  they  intend  robbing,  and  operate  under  the  coat 
or  shawl.  In  case  the  pocket  is  high  or  too  small  to  admit  the 
hand  freely,  a  sharp  knife  is  used  to  cut  the  side  of  the  dress 
or  trousers  of  the  victim.  Others  of  the  light-fingered  frater- 
nity wear  light  overcoats  with  the  large  pockets  removed.  En- 
tering a  crowded  car,  a  thief,  while  standing  up,  selects  a 
woman  who,  while  paying  her  fare,  has  displayed  a  well-filled 
purse.  The  thief,  when  the  opportunity  occurs,  carelessly  laps 
his  coat  over  her  dress,  and,  by  inserting  his  hand  through  the 
outside  opening  of  his  false  pocket,  quietly  proceeds  to  do  his 
work.  Female  pickpockets  who  operate  in  cars  and  boats  in- 
variably use  cloaks,  which  shield  them  while  stealing.  They 
press  against  the  person  whose  pockets  they  are  rifling,  and  the 
cloak  completely  hides  the  movements  of  their  hands. 


DIVIDING   TIIK   BPOl 

Some  expert  male  pickpockets  ply  their  vocation  alone. 
One  of  this  class  succeeded  in  stealing  a  valuable  watch  from 
the  vest  pocket  of  a  distinguished  jurist  sonic  time  since  while 
the  latter  was  viewing  a  procession  from  the  front  of  a  leading 
hotel.  Another  class  of  pickpockets  frequent  churches  and 
funerals.  Women  generally  do  the  stealing,  and  they  pass  the 
plunder  to  their  male  confederates,  who  disappear  with  the 
watch  or  pocketbook  the  moment  it  has  been  captured.  The 
men  as  a  rule  are  old  thieves  who  have  lost  their  nerve  and  no 
longer  dare  to  work  for  themselves.  Those  that  operate  with 
an  assistant  always  require  the  latter  to  do  the  crowding  or 
engage  the  attention  of  the  intended  victim  while  his  pocket 
is  being  plundered. 

A  "mob"  is  always  composed  of  not  less  than  three  men 
working  in  harmony.  Just  as  soon  as  a  watch  or  pocketbook 
has  been  stolen  by  one  of  these  men,  the  thief  hands  the  plun- 
der to  one  of  his  accomplices,  who  passes  it  to  the  third  or 
fourth  man,  as  the  case  may  be.  This  sfyle  of  thieving  is  to 
protect  the  actual  thief,  and  only  yields  small  profits  on  account 
of  the  number  en^a^ed  in  the  crime.  Should  the  victim  dis- 
cover  on  the  spot  that  his  pocket  had  been  picked,  and  cause 
the  arrest  of  the  robber  standing  alongside  or  in  front  of  him, 
the  failure  to  find  the  plunder  upon  the  prisoner  would  create 
a  serious  doubt  as  to  his  guilt.  Cunning  old  professionals,  ver- 
itable "  Fag^s,"  are  the  brains  of  these  "  mobs."  They  dele- 
gate a  daring  young  man  with  quick  hands  to  do  the  stealing, 
and  the  instant  the  purse,  watch,  or  jewel  has  been  passed  to 
them  they  disappear.  If  it  is  a  purse  that  has  been  taken,  it 
is  promptly  rifled  and  the  empty  Avallet  thrown  into  an  ash 
barrel  or  sewer.  The  veteran  first  allots  to  himself  the  lion's 
share  of  the  booty,  and  afterwards  splits  up  the  remainder  with 
the  other  members  of  the  gang.  Serious  trouble,  sometimes 
resulting  in  bloodshed,  occurs  over  quarrels  concerning  the 
division  of  spoils.  Should  a  newspaper  item  announce  that  the 
stolen  pocketbook  contained  a  large  sum  of  money  when  the 
leader  of  the  gang  had  said  he  found  but  a  few  dollars  in  it, 
the  thieves'  copartnership  would  be  summarily  dissolved  by  a 


708  HOW  PICKPOCKETS   OPERATE  IN  A  CROWD. 

sanguinary  affray,  the  cause  of  which,  for  the  protection  of  the 
others,  would  not  be  revealed. 

"  Sidewalk  committees  "  at  the  time  of  military  parades  or 
political  processions  have  a  couple  of  young  men  who  are 
known  as  pushers.  These  go  in  advance  of  the  thief  and  locate 
the  whereabouts  of  the  plunder  for  him.  They  rush  and  push 
to  and  fro  in  the  crowd,  or  at  a  street  crossing,  jostling  against 
every  one  with  whom  they  come  in  contact.  When  the  pusher 
discovers  the  pocket  in  which  plunder  is  sure  to  be  found,  the 
fellow  signals  to  the  pickpocket  indicating  the  victim  and  just 
where  the  purse  or  wallet  is  carried.  Then  the  robbery  follows. 
Some  nervous  people,  while  carrying  large  sums,  betray  them- 
selves to  a  shrewd  thief  by  their  actions,  and  afterwards  think 
it  strange  that  the  rogue  should  have  known  the  very  pocket 
that  contained  the  roll  of  greenbacks.  If  they  had  remained 
cool  while  riding  in  a  car  or  passing  through  a  crowd,  and  had 
not  clapped  their  hands  every  few  minutes  on  the  outside  of  the 
pocket  in  which  they  carried  the  money,  to  feel  if  it  was  still 
there,  they  would  doubtless  have  avoided  loss.  Pickpockets, 
like  other  individuals,  are  not  gifted  with  second-sight,  and  they 
always  watch  for  signs  to  guide  them  in  their  operations.  If 
their  mode  of  working  was  better  understood  by  the  public  and 
properly  guarded  against,  their  vocation  would  in  a  short  time 
become  unprofitable. 

When  a  mob  of  pickpockets  start  out  to  "  work  a  crowd  " 
on  a  horse-car  or  a  railroad  train,  they  break  into  twos.  The 
part  of  one  is  to  ascertain  the  location  of  the  victim's  money. 
He  gets  alongside  the  man  whose  pocket  is  to  be  picked,  and 
with  rapid  movement  he  dexterously  passes  his  fingers  over 
every  pocket.  His  touch  is  so  delicate  that  it  enables  him  to 
locate  the  prize  and  to  ascertain  its  character,  whether  a  roll, 
a  purse,  or  a  pocket-book.  The  surging  of  the  crowd,  especially 
on  a  railroad  train,  accounts  to  the  suspicious  traveler  for  the 
occasional  jostling  he  receives.  The  most  common  receptacle 
for  the  pocket-book  is  the  left  trousers  pocket.  When  the  vic- 
tim is  selected,  the  second  man  plants  himself  squarely  in  front 
of  him,  while  the  other  crowds  up  behind  him  on  the  right 


HOW  PEOPLE  ARE  ROBBED  OF  WATCHES.       TOO 

side.  The  operator  in  front,  under  cover  of  a  newspaper  or 
coat  thrown  over  his  arm,  feels  the  pocket,  and  if  the  victim  is 
a  straight-backed  man,  in  standing  position,  he  finds  the  open- 
ing of  the  pocket  drawn  close  together.  In  such  a  case  it  is 
dangerous  to  attempt  the  insertion  of  the  hand.  A  very  low- 
toned  clearing  of  the  throat,  followed  by  a  guttural  noise,  is 
the  signal  for  his  confederate  to  exert  a  gentle  pressure  upon 
the  victim's  right  shoulder.  This  is  so  gradually  extended  that 
the  traveler  yields  to  the  pressure  without  knowing  it,  and 
without  changing  the  position  of  his  feet.  This  throws  the  lips 
of  the  pocket  conveniently  open  for  the  operator  in  front,  who 
does  not  insert  his  hands  to  draw  the  book  out  but  works  upon 
the  lining.  He  draws  it  out  a  little  at  a  time  without  inserting 
his  fingers  more  than  half  way.  Should  this  process  of  draw- 
ing the  contents  of  the  pocket  to  its  mouth  be  felt  by  the  vic- 
tim, another  low  clearing  of  the  throat  gives  the  sign  to  the 
confederate,  and  the  game  is  dropped.  If  the  victim's  suspi- 
cions are  not  aroused,  the  pickpocket  continues  at  his  work  of 
drawing  the  lining  out  until  the  roll  of  bills  or  pocket-book  is 
within  reach  of  his  deft  fingers.  The  successful  completion  of 
the  undertaking  is  indicated  by  a  gentle  chirrup,  and  the  pre- 
cious pair  separate  from  their  victim  to  ply  the  same  tricks 
upon  the  next  one. 

Stealing  watches  and  pins  by  gangs  of  pickpockets  who  ride 
in  street  cars  is  of  frequent  occurrence.  In  taking  the  watch 
the  same  system  of  jostling  and  crowding  is  resorted  to  while 
the  "  wire "  (the  one  who  actually  does  the  work)  is  stealing 
the  watch.  He  raises  it  out  of  the  pocket  by  means  of  the  chain 
with  his  left  hand,  which  is  concealed  by  a  coat  or  shawl.  After 
the  watch  has  been  taken  from  the  pocket,  the  thief  drops  it 
into  the  palm  of  his  right  hand,  and  by  a  quick  turn  of  the 
wrist  the  ring  is  twisted  off.  The  chain,  which  is  seldom  taken, 
is  quietly  allowed  to  drop  down,  and  usually  the  first  intima- 
tion a  person  has  that  his  watch  is  gone,  is  when  his  attention 
is  called  to  his  dangling  chain.  The  moment  that  the  watch 
has  been  stolen,  the  man  who  takes  it  passes  it  to  an  associate, 
who  leaves  the  car  at  once,  and  the  others  comprising  the  gang 


710  STEALING  DIAMOND   PINS. 

ride  a  square  or  two  before  getting  out.  Some  people  wonder 
how  pickpockets  succeed  in  stealing  a  watch  without  first  un- 
screwing the  snap  at  the  end  of  the  chain,  not  knowing  that 
the  ring  has  been  twisted  out. 

To  capture  a  diamond  pin  the  method  is  slightly  different. 
Kogues  of  this  class,  when  at  work,  generally  lift  one  arm  above 
the  height  of  the  pin,  and  while  the  owner's  attention  is  at- 
tracted by  something  started  for  the  purpose,  the  jewel  is  ab- 
stracted by  an  exceedingly  quick  and  clever  movement  of  the 
thumb  and  forefinger  of  the  other  hand.  As  the  pin  starts 
from  its  place  it  is  caught  in  the  palm  of  the  thief's  hand,  and 
before  the  owner  has  discovered  his  loss  the  jewel  has  passed 
out  of  the  possession  of  the  man  who  stole  it. 

It  is  a  good  plan  for  persons  carrying  large  sums -of  money 
or  valuables  not  to  allow  their  attention  to  be  suddenly  diverted 
by  seeming  disturbances  or  other  distractions.  They  are  the 
pickpocket's  opportunity,  and  are  often  gotten  up  by  them  for 
the  purpose. 


CIIAPTETC    XL. 

FORGERS  AND  THEIR  METHODS  — WILY  DEVICES  AND  BRAINY 
SCHEMES  OF  A  DANGEROUS  CLASS —  TRICKS  ON  BANKS  — 
HOW  BUSINESS  MEN  ARE  DEFRAUDED. 

A  Crime  That  is  Easily  Perpetrated,  and  Detected  with  Difficulty  —  Pro- 
fessional Forgers  —  Men  of  Brains  —  Secret  Workshops  —  Raising  Checks 

—  A  Forger's  Agents  and  Go-betweens  —  The  Organization    of  a  Gang 

—  How  They  Cover  Their  Tracks  —  In  the  Clutches  of  Sharpers  —  The 
First  Step  in  Crime  —  Various  Methods  of  Passing  Forged  Paper  — 
Paving  the  Way  for  an  Operation  —  Dangerous  Schemes  —  Daring  and 
Clever  Forgeries  —  Interesting  Cases  —  How  Banks  are  Defrauded  —  Es- 
tablishing Confidence  with  a  Bank  —  A  Smart  Gang  —  Altering  and  Rais- 
ing Checks  and  Drafts  —  How  Storekeepers  and  Business  Men  are  De- 
frauded—  Cashing  a  Burnt  Check  —  Crafty  and  Audacious  Forgers  — 
A  Great  Plot  Frustrated  —  Deceiving  the  Head  of  a  Foreign  Detective 
Bureau  — A  Remarkable  Story  —  Startling  and  Unexpected  News  — 
Thrown  off  His  Guard  —  Escape  of  the  Criminal  and  His  Band. 

A  DISTINGUISHED  and  learned  criminal  jurist  tersely  de- 
scribed forgery  as  "  the  false  making  or  materially  alter- 
ing, with  intent  to  defraud,  any  writing  which,  if  genuine, 
might  apparently  be  of  legal  efficacy  in  the  foundation  of  a 
legal  liability. "  The  crime,  in  a  general  sense,  is  the  illegal 
falsification  or  counterfeiting  of  a  writing,  bill,  bond,  will,  or 
other  document,  and  the  statutes  generally  make  the  uttering 
or  using  the  forged  instruments  essential  to  the  offense.  The 
uttering  is  complete,  however,  if  an  attempt  is  made  to  use  the 
fraudulent  paper  as  intended,  though  the  forgery  be  discovered 
in  season  to  defeat  the  fraud  designed.  The  intent  to  deceive 
and  defraud  is  often  conclusively  presumed  from  the  forgery 
itself.  If  one  forge  a  name,  word,  or  even  figure  of  a  note, 
and  cause  it  to  be  discounted,  it  is  no  defense  whatever  to  the 
charge  of  forgery  that  he  intended  to  pay  the  note  himself, 
and  had  actually  made  provisions  that  no  person  should  be  in- 

43  (711) 


712  TRAITS  OF  PROFESSIONAL  FORGERS. 

jured.'  Forgery,  attended  as  it  is  with  such  ruinous  conse- 
quences, is  easily  perpetrated,  and  detected  with  much  difficulty. 
It  was  one  of  the  capital  offenses  years  ago,  and  the  Penal 
Code  of  the  State  of  New  York  makes  the  sentence,  upon  a 
second  conviction  for  forgery  in  the  first  degree,  imprisonment 
for  life. 

As  compared  with  the  other  criminal  classes  the  number  of 
professional  forgers  in  the  United  States  is  very  small.  All 
told,  there  are  not  more  than  two  dozen  expert  penmen  and 
engravers  who  misuse  their  talents  by  imitating  the  handwrit- 
ing and  workmanship  of  others.  Few  as  are  these  swindlers, 
they  occasionally  launch  forth  some  gigantic  scheme,  flooding 
the  principal  cities  with  their  spurious  and  worthless  paper. 
The  operations  of  American  forgers  are  not  by  any  means 
confined  to  this  country.  The  bankers  of  Europe  have  been 
fleeced  by  them,  and  conspiracies  hatched  here  have  almost 
caused  financial  panics  in  England  and  on  the  Continent. 

The  professional  forger  is  a  man  of  great  natural  ability 
and  a  cunning  and  suspicious  individual.  Cautious  in  the  ex- 
treme, he  prefers  to  work  in  secret,  and  probably  never  more 
than  two  of  his  most  intimate  companions  know  what  he  is 
about  until  the  counterfeits  he  has  produced  are  ready  to  be 
put  in  circulation.  So  guarded  is  he,  in  fact,  that  while  imitat- 
ing the  signature  of  a  banking  firm,  duplicating  the  bonds  or 
securities  of  a  large  corporation,  or  printing  the  delicately  ex- 
ecuted notes  and  currency  of  a  country,  he  never  permits  any 
of  his  friends  to  enter  his  secret  workshop.  It  is  the  proud 
boast  of  one  of  the  most  notorious  of  these  swindlers  that  while 
at  his  nefarious  work  no  man,  woman,  or  child  ever  saw  him 
with  a  pen  in  his  hand. 

By  the  aid  of  a  mixture  of  acids  they  are  able  to  completely 
erase  figures  in  ink  from  the  face  of  notes  without  in  the  least 
destroying  or  damaging  the  paper.  Thus  genuine  orders  upon 
banks  or  brokers  for  a  few  dollars  are  easily  raised  into  the 
thousands.  Others  have  a  talent  for  imitating  handwriting, 
especially  autographs,  and  fill  out  blank  checks  and  notes  to 
suit  themselves.     Photography  has  also  been  successfully  ap- 


HOW  FORMERS  COVER  THEIR  TRACKS. 


713 


plied  as  a  means  for  transferring  line  tracing,  delicate  engrav- 
ings, and  even  signatures. 

Although  plotting  and  planning  daring  work  for  others  to 

execute,  the  forger  keeps  himself  well  in  the  background,  and 
by  following  a  system  calculated  to  protect  himself  against  the 
annoyance  of  arrest  or  the  danger  of  conviction  he  runs  but 
few  risks.  He  keeps  aloof  from  the  several  members  of  his 
band,  and  in  most  cases 
is  known  only  to  his 
manager,  who  is  the 
go-between  and  guid- 
ing spirit  of  the  gang. 
This  system  is  one  of 
the  forger's  best  safe- 
guards, for  no  matter 
what  slip  there  may 
afterwards  be  in  the 
effort  to  secure  money 
upon  his  spurious  pa- 
per, he  is  able  to  baffle 
all  attempts  to  fasten 
the  foundation  of  the 
crime  upon  himself. 
He  employs  as  his  man- 
ager only  a  man  in 
whom  he  has  the  ut- 
most confidence,  who 
is  generally  a  person 
of  such  notoriously  bad  character  that  no  jury  would  accept 
his  uncorroborated  testimony  should  he  prove  unfaithful. 
There  have  been  instances,  however,  in  which  the  manager 
has  also  been  the  capitalist  and  leading  plotter.  Such  men 
are  to  be  found  in  the  best  walks  of  life,  and  their  means  of 
existence  is  often  a  mystery  to  their  friends.  They  have  care- 
fully guarded  ways  of  putting  the  forged  notes  into  the  hands 
of  the  agents  of  the  "  layers-down,"  the  title  by  which  those 
who  finally  dispose  of  the  fraudulent  paper  are  known. 


UNDERGROUND  CELLS  FOR  USE  OF  THE  DETECT- 
IVE DEPARTMENT  AT  POLICE  HEADQUARTERS. 


714  IN   THE   CLUTCHES   OF  SHARPERS. 

The  organization  of  a  forger's  gang  is  unlike  that  of  any 
other  class  of  thieves.  It  has  many  subdivisions,  all  working 
in  concert,  and  yet  but  few  of  the  operators  have  any  acquaint- 
ance with  the  leading  spirits  in  the  conspiracy.  The  poor  tools 
who  risk  their  liberty  never  know  the  penman  or  engraver 
whose  work  they  handle,  and  the  forger,  on  the  other  hand, 
does  not  wish  an  acquaintance  with  them.  He  knows  them 
simply  by  reputation  as  a  good  or  ordinary  layer-down,  just  as 
their  standing  may  be.  Then  there  are  the  quiet  agents,  who 
gather  information  and  rarely  appear  in  any  criminal  proceed- 
ing. These  have  a  wide  circle  of  acquaintances,  many  of  whom 
are  reputable  merchants  and  brokers.  During  pleasant  chats 
in  the  bars  and  reading-rooms  of  hotels  and  at  fashionable  re- 
sorts, much  useful  information  for  the  carrying  out  of  large 
plans  is  gleaned. 

A  banker's  clerk,  fond  of  billiards  or  horse-racing,  and  liv- 
ing above  his  salary,  while  in  bad  luck  meets  an  agreeable 
friend  at  the  race-track  or  around  the  gaming-table.  The  forg- 
er's secret  and  most  dangerous  agents  grasp  the  situation  at  a 
glance,  and  hidden  behind  their  apparent  good-nature  is  a  plot 
for  plunder.  The  clerk's  losses  make  him  desperate,  and  he 
never  declines  the  proffered  loan.  It  may  be  only  a  small 
sum,  but  it  is  the  first  step  toward  his  downfall.  He  has  be- 
come entangled  in  the  clutches  of  a  sharper,  and  at  short 
acquaintance  stands  ready  to  follow  the  advice  of  his  generous 
friend.  When  it  is  suggested  that  blank  checks,  or  better  still, 
checks  filled  out,  if  procured  by  him,  no  matter  by  what  means 
he  obtains  them,  will  bring  him  in  a  supply  of  ready  cash,  he 
grasps  the  opportunity.  Rarely  does  the  firm  suspect,  when 
at  last  the  forgeries  are  scattered  broadcast,  that  their  fast-liv- 
ing clerk  is  really  responsible  for  the  counterfeits.  The  reck- 
less young  man,  tempted  by  the  success  of  others,  will  in  a 
short  time  attempt  to  imitate  signatures  himself.  Not  having 
served  a  proper  apprenticeship  in  wicked  ways,  the  forgery  is 
apparent.  Caught  in  the  act,  he  is  sent  to  prison,  and  forever 
afterwards  is  an  outcast  from  society. 

The  clerk's  experience  demonstrates  but  one  of  the  insidious 


PASSING    FORGED    PAPER.  715 

met  hods  of  the  crafty  forger  and  Lis  agents.  He  lias  other 
schemes,  most  prominent  among  which  is  using  the  dishonest 
broker.  Under  cover  of  a  legitimate  business  they  dispose  of 
considerable  worthless  bonds  and  securities.     It  often  happens 

that  stolen,  forged,  and  counterfeit  bonds  are  hypothecated  for 
loans  by  some  tottering  firm  and  are  never  redeemed.  Bank- 
ers duped  in  that  way.  rather  than  make  public  the  fact  that 
they  have  been  taken,  prefer  to  bear  their  losses  and  make  no 
effort  to  prosecute  the  swindler. 

The  men  who.  for  a  small  percentage,  dispose  of  forged 
paper  or  handle  counterfeits  are  mostly  ex-convicts  or  novices 
in  crime.  Some  of  the  check-passers  operate  according  to  sys- 
tem, and  others  depend  upon  circumstances.  Not  long  ago  a 
forger,  only  one  of  whose  spurious  notes  was  ever  refused,  al- 
ways furnished  his  operators  with  duplicate  drafts.  One  of 
these,  simply  endorsed  upon  the  back,  would  be  presented  at 
the  bank  by  the  layer-down.  The  latter  being  a  stranger,  the 
teller  would  naturally  decline  to  honor  the  note  without  proper 
identification.  Then  the  layer-down,  after  remarking  that  he 
was  not  well  acquainted  with  financial  matters,  would  take  the 
check  and  leave  the  institution.  The  second  note,  properly  cer- 
tified and  indorsed  with  the  signature  of  the  firm  whose  genu- 
ine check  had  been  imitated,  would  be  handed  to  the  operator 
by  an  accomplice  on  the  street.  After  a  brief  absence  the  man 
would  return  to  the  bank  and  get  the  money,  the  teller  suppos- 
ing the  identification  to  be  freshly  written.  The  presentation 
of  the  identified  check  first  would  not  have  been  regular,  and 
the  wily  leader  never  permitted  any  of  his  tools  to  run  such 
risks. 

In  one  instance  a  forger  used  three  layers-down.  His  plan 
was  this:  If  the  first  man  came  out  all  right,  a  second  was  sent 
in.  and  if  he  succeeded,  a  third  followed.  Here  the  operations 
ended  for  the  day,  and  afterwards  a  watch  was  kept  upon  the 
bank  until  it  was  closed,  and  also  upon  the  office  of  the  broker 
whose  signature  was  being  forged.  If  no  unusual  commotion 
was  observed  at  either  place,  it  was  taken  for  granted  that  the 
victim's  account  was  large  enough  to  be  drawn  from  still  fur- 


716  SLY  METHODS  AND  DANGEROUS   SCHEMES. 

ther.  A  day  or  two  later  other  checks  previously  prepared  were 
presented  in  the  same  way.  Upon  the  slightest  sign  of  discov- 
ery, the  layer-down  and  his  lookouts  disappeared  as  quickly  as 
possible,  one  covering  the  escape  of  the  other.  In  the  selection 
of  the  men  who  obtained  cash  on  the  notes,  old  favorites  were 
sent  in  first,  as  the  chances  of  detection  were  then  at  a  mini- 
mum. As  the  account  was  more  and  more  freely  drawn  upon 
and  was  likely  to  give  out  at  any  moment,  and  as  disagreeable 
questions  might  be  asked,  the  last  men  were  required  to  possess 
plenty  of  nerve.  The  amount  of  a  firm's  account  in  bank  is 
always  a  matter  of  guesswork,  and  therefore  risky,  though  the 
forger's  rule  is  to  select  wealthy  concerns,  leave  a  wide  margin 
and  draw  from  the  account  gradually. 

The  forger  has  but  little  trouble  in  ascertaining  the  correct 
numbers  for  the  checks  he  intends  using.  Just  before  the 
close  of  business  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  one  of  his  agents  calls 
at  a  broker's  office  and  sells  some  genuine  bonds,  and  in  pay- 
ment asks  that  he  be  given  at  least  two  checks,  explaining  that 
he  desires  to  send  them  by  letter  to  friends  in  the  country. 
Such  checks  are  rarely  ever  refused,  and  the  forger  thus  man- 
ages to  get  the  numbers  of  the  last  checks  issued  by  the  firm. 
This  gives  him  all  day  Sunday  to  fix  the  figures  on  the  forger- 
ies, and  he  is  then  ready  to  operate  on  Monday  morning. 
The  genuine  checks,  several  days  later,  reach  the  bank  through 
some  reputable  business  firm ;  but  in  the  meantime  they  have 
passed  through  so  many  hands  that  it  is  next  to  an  impossi- 
bility to  trace  them. 

A  common  yet  dangerous  scheme,  which  has  been  carried  out 
many  times  with  success  by  check-raisers,  is  this :  A  member  of 
the  gang  is  first  sent  to  purchase  two  drafts  payable  at  a  bank 
in  another  city.  One  is  made  out  for  a  small  amount  and  the 
other  for  a  considerable  sum.  In  a  few  days  the  purchaser 
returns  the  large  draft  to  the  bank,  saying  that  he  was  unable 
to  use  it  as  he  had  intended.  The  amount  it  calls  for  is  re- 
funded to  him,  and  the  redeemed  draft  is  in  most  instances  de- 
stroyed. Then,  having  a  clear  field  before  him,  the  forger  for- 
wards the  small  draft,  raised  to  correspond  in  number,  date, 


WINNING    THE   CONFIDENCE   OF   A   BANK.  717 

and  amount  to  the  large  one,  to  some  distant  city  for  collec- 
tion. As  the  genuine  draft  has  in  the  meantime  been  torn  up, 
there  is  rarely  any  difficulty  in  getting  the  raised  one  cashed, 
and  sometimes  the  deceit  is  not  readily  discovered  at  the  bank 
of  issue.  Many  cashiers  have  spent  hours  going  over  their 
books  on  account  of  a  shortage  due  to  a  raised  check. 

The  photo-lithographic  process  of  check-counterfeiting  first 
came  to  light  in  this  city  a  few  years  ago.  The  checks 
were  presented  by  a  smart  lad  who  invariably  succeeded  in 
getting  them  cashed.  He  was  caught  at  last  laying  down  one 
of  the  worthless  notes,  and  had  it  not  been  for  an  accident  he 
might  have  escaped.  The  cashier  to  whom  the  note  was  pre- 
sented noticed  that  it  was  blurred,  and  on  submitting  it  to  ex- 
perts his  suspicions  that  it  was  a  forgery  were  confirmed.  It 
had  been  prepared  with  such  accuracy  that  the  stamp  on  it 
could  not  be  distinguished  from  a  genuine  one.  The  forger, 
however,  had  not  been  satisfied  with  his  work,  and  essayed  an 
improvement  by  the  use  of  chemicals,  which  in  the  warmth  of 
the  carrier's  hand  had  blurred  and  discolored  the  paper.  The 
lad,  when  cornered,  made  a  clean  breast  of  it,  and  said  that  his 
brother-in-law  had  employed  him  to  procure  genuine  checks 
and  carry  forged  paper  to  the  bank. 

Not  long  ago  a  man  who  appeared  to  be  extremely  prudent 
and  careful,  conducting  his  business  transactions  after  the  most 
approved  methods  and  on  strict  business  principles,  opened  an 
account  with  one  of  the  city  banks.  He  soon  won  the  confi- 
dence of  the  bank  officials.  At  first  he  deposited  only  moder- 
ate sums  of  money,  thus  creating  the  impression  that  he  was 
engaged  in  legitimate  business,  and  he  only  drew  on  his 
account  as  any  ordinary  merchant  might  do.  He  always  kept 
a  balance  in  the  bank,  and  the  money  lie  deposited  was  usually 
in  certified  checks  of  another  bank.  Thus  his  credit  was  soon 
established  on  a  very  comfortable  basis.  Suddenly  the  checks 
began  to  assume  alarming  proportions.  They  came,  too,  in 
unusually  rounded  figures,  $4,500  and  $6,500  looming  up  on 
their  faces.  The  suspicion  of  the  cashier  was  aroused  and  an 
inquiry   was  instituted.      The  new  customer's    dealings  had 


718  ALTERING  AND  RAISING  CHECKS. 

jumped  to  such  proportions  that  it  was  thought  that  something 
must  be  wrong. 

The  officials  of  the  bank  that  had  issued  the  certified 
checks  were  at  once  consulted,  the  checks  were  examined,  and 
they  were  pronounced  forgeries.  Both  banks  were  amazed. 
Their  consternation  increased  the  more  closely  they  examined 
the  checks.  It  was  clear  that  the  forgeries  were  not  ordinary 
ones,  and  it  was  more  than  likely  that  they  were  being  perpe- 
trated on  other  institutions  and  probably  for  large  amounts. 
These  checks,  so  many  of  which  had  passed  current  at  the 
bank  of  certification,  had  been  printed  and  stamped  on 
specially  manufactured  paper  and  signed  with  specially  pre- 
pared ink.  The  writing  was  done  in  a  bold,  free  hand  that 
challenged  detection  by  its  freedom  and  similarity  to  that  of 
the  treasurer  of  the  Western  Union  Telegraph  Company. 
They  were  lithographed  imitations  of  the  genuine  checks  of 
the  bank,  with  a  slight  difference  in  the  safety  test,  the  num- 
bering, and  the  ink,  but  in  the  rush  of  business  these  defects 
escaped  notice.  The  forgeries  were  admitted  to  be  exceed- 
ingly clever,  and  no  fault  was  found  with  the  teller  for  cer- 
tifying to  the  genuineness  of  the  notes.  In  this  instance  the 
layer-down  was  a  poor  youth  whom  the  bogus  merchant  had 
employed  in  his  sham  office  at  a  salary  of  a  few  dollars  a 
week. 

Forgers  who  make  a  practice  of  defrauding  banks  of 
smaller  cities  first  establish  confidence  with  the  officials  of  the 
institution  they  intend  to  plunder.  This  is  done  in  a  very  sim- 
ple manner,  but  one  that  generally  proves  successful.  Several 
weeks  before  the  forgery  is  attempted,  the  advance  agent  of 
the  gang  opens  an  insurance  or  real-estate  office  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  bank.  He  opens  an  account  with  the  bank,  makes  bona 
fide  deposits,  and  transacts  ordinary  business  matters,  generally 
involving,  however,  the  transfer  of  money  from  one  city  to 
another.  When  at  last  he  feels  perfectly  sure  that  he  is  beyond 
suspicion,  he  deposits  for  collection  a  draft  on  another  bank 
for  a  large  sum,  which  bears  the  forged  signature  of  a  genuine 
depositor  at  a  bank  in  a  distant  city.     Upon  presentation  of  the 


CASHING  A  BURNT  CHECK.  719 

draft  the  officials  telegraph  to  the  bank  it  is  drawn  upon,  in- 
quiring if  the  persoD  or  firm  whose  signature  it  bears  is  a 
depositor  in  good  standing  there.  The  answer  being  satis- 
factory, at  least  three-fourths  of  the  amount  called  for  by  the 

check  is  willingly  advanced  by  the  bank  of  deposit  to  the  for- 
ger's trusted  agent.  In  due  time  the  counterfeit  is  forwarded 
for  collection  through  the  regular  business  channels,  and  when 
it  finally  reaches  its  destination  its  character  is  discovered. 
The  insurance  or  real-estate  office  has  in  the  meantime  disap- 
peared, and  the  forger  and  his  tools  have  vanished.  A  smart 
gang,  with  a  dozen  or  more  advance  agents,  have  been  known 
to  dupe  in  a  single  year  over  forty  banks,  netting  with  a  small 
outlay  about  $160,000  by  their  operations. 

Storekeepers  and  business  firms  have  been  swindled  time 
and  again  by  a  peculiar  class  of  forgers  who  seem  to  be  satis- 
fied with  a  few  hundred  dollars,  and  sometimes  less.  In  all 
large  cities  these  men  succeed  in  operating  extensively  with 
raised  or  worthless  checks.  After  a  small  purchase  the  layer- 
down  presents  a  bank  draft  or  a  check  in  payment,  and  should 
he  be  questioned  he  generally  gives  some  ready  reference.  His 
offhand  and  frank  way  of  dealing  allays  suspicion,  and  not  an 
inkling  of  his  true  character  is  revealed  until  scores  have  fallen 
a  prey  to  his  deceptions.  AVhen  one  of  these  criminals  is  run 
down,  hundreds  of  complainants  generally  appear  to  prosecute 
him. 

Sometimes  it  happens,  in  altering  checks,  that  the  chemicals 
leave  a  blur  upon  the  paper  that  cannot  be  erased.  As  the 
notes,  although  for  small  amounts,  are  genuine,  the  forger, 
who  is  seldom  willing  to  lose  money  even  in  experimenting, 
has  been  known  to  burn  off  the  portion  of  the  paper  that  he 
had  unsuccessfully  tampered  with.  Then  one  of  his  friends 
will  write  to  the  bank  that  issued  the  draft,  stating  that  it  had 
accidentally  been  partially  burned,  giving  the  date  of  issue  and 
the  amount  it  called  for,  and  requesting  that  a  duplicate  be  for- 
warded to  the  writer.  To  confirm  the  accident  story,  the 
fragments  of  the  check  are  enclosed  in  the  envelope.  The 
duplicate  asked  for  is  generally  received  by  return  mail. 


720 


A  REMARKABLE   STORY. 


The  craftiness  and  audacity  of  the  professional  forger  is 
well  illustrated  by  the  following  incident : 

A  few  years  ago  a  band  of  international  criminals  left  this 
city  for  the  purpose  of  robbing  foreign  bankers  by  means  of  a 
large  supply  of  well-executed  counterfeit  notes.  The  men  were 
scarcely  upon  the  high  seas  before  the  conspiracy  was  known 
in  New  York.  Without  delay  cablegrams  were  flashed  across 
the  ocean  warning  the  European  authorities  of  the  entire  plot, 
and  giving  the  names  and  accurate  descriptions  of  all  the  oper- 
ators. Notwithstanding  this  warning  the  forger  and  his  assist- 
ants landed  without  detection,  and  made  their  headquarters  in 
one  of  the  largest  cities.  In  the  course  of  a  few  days  after 
their  arrival  the  chief  conspirator,  who  was  traveling  as  an 
American  tourist,  desirous  of  becoming  familiar  with  the  faces 
of  the  detectives,  secured  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  Chief  of 
the  Bureau  or  Department  of  Criminal  Investigation.  He  was 
well  received,  all  the  workings  of  that  branch  of  the  police  ser- 
vice were  explained  to  him,  and  he  was  pleasantly  entertained 
for  half  an  hour  or  more  by  the  head  of  the  force  himself. 
During  the  chat  the  conversation  turned,  apparently  incident- 
ally, to  forgers  and  counterfeiters.  The  detective,  thrown 
completely  off  his  guard,  unbosomed  himself  to  the  bogus 
tourist.  On  the  desk  before  the  former  lay  the  important 
message  sent  from  New  York  concerning  the  band  of  forgers. 
It  was  an  official  secret,  but  the  detective  had  no  scruples  in 
confiding  it  to  his  visitor.  Telling  the  latter  tha,t  his  depart- 
ment was  in  communication  with  similar  institutions  in  the 
United  States,  the  Chief  of  one  of  the  largest  detective  forces 
in  Europe  picked  up  the  message  and  read  it  from  beginning  to 
end  to  the  sham  tourist.  It  was  startling  and  unexpected 
news  to  the  forger,  but  he  controlled  his  feelings,  and  without 
the  slightest  nervousness  or  agitation  resumed  the  conversation. 
At  its  close  the  noted  criminal  warmly  shook  the  hand  of  the 
police  official  who  had  unconsciously  and  gratuitously  fur- 
nished him  with  so  much  valuable  information,  and  drove  back 
to  his  hotel.     The  forger  and  his  band  disappeared  that  night. 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

FRAUDS  EXPOSED  —  ACCOMPLISHED  ADVENTURERS  AND 
FASHIONABLE  ADVENTURESSES  —  PEOPLE  WHO  LIVE  BY 
THEIR  WITS  — GETTING  A  LIVING  BY  HOOK  OR  BY  CROOK. 

Human  Harpies — Confiding  Boarders  —  Relieving  a  Pretty  "Woman's  Em- 
barrassment—The  Tables  Turned  —  A  Fashionable  and  Accomplished 
Adventuress  —  Swindlers  in  Society  —  Ingenious  Money-Making  Schemes 
—  "Engineering  Beggars"  —  Plying  a  Miserable  Trade — "Hushing  it 
up  for  His  Family's  Sake "  —  Literary  Blackmail  —  Practising  upon 
Human  Vanity  —  Matrimonial  Advertising  —  A  Matrimonial  Bureau  and 
its  Victims  —  Bogus  Detectives  —  A  Mean  and  Contemptible  Lot  —  Run- 
ning with  the  Hare  and  Hunting  with  the  Hounds  —  Getting  a  Living 
by  Hook  or  by  Crook  —  Shyster  Lawyers  —  Quack  Doctors  "Who  "Cure 
All  Diseases  "  —  The  Heraldic  Swindler  — How  Cigar  Stumps  are  Made 
Over  into  Fragrant  Havanas  —  Free-Lunchers  and  Floaters  —  Fortune- 
Tellers  and  Clairvoyants  —  Transparent  Stratagems. 

ODD  and  many  are  the  ways  of  earning  a  living  that  are 
resorted  to  by  numerous  adventurers  and  adventuresses 
in  the  metropolis  ;  for  society  in  its  varied  and  complex  phases 
affords  a  profitable  field  for  a  large  army  of  wily  men  and 
women  who  live  by  their  wits.  There  are  hundreds  of  in- 
genious money-making  schemes  which  though  by  no  means 
legitimate  cannot  be  dealt  with  as  precisely  criminal ;  and  there 
is  therefore  a  certain  class  who,  though  not  professional  crimi- 
nals, nevertheless  like  them  obtain  a  living  by  preying  upon 
their  fellow-creatures. 

I  recall  the  case  of  a  lady,  middle-aged  but  still  pretty, 
who  kept  many  boarding-houses  one  after  another,  all  of  them 
popular  and  well  patronized  while  they  lasted.  She  was  a 
woman  of  education  and  refinement,  of  gentle  disposition  and 
confiding  nature,  and  she  easily  inspired  unbounded  confidence 
in  all  who  knew  her.  She  always  managed  to  interest  some 
rich  old  bachelor  or  widower  in  her  business  affairs,  with  the 

(721) 


722      ,  SWINDLING  UNSUSPECTING  BOARDERS. 

almost  certain  result  of  inducing  him  to  pay  a  large  sum  of 
money  in  advance  for  board.  Then  suddenly  her  affairs  would 
become  "  involved,"  and  with  many  tears  and  well-simulated 
expressions  of  sorrow  and  deep  distress  she  would  reluctantly 
announce  to  her  boarders  that  she  was  obliged  to  give  up  her 
house.  She  would  then  disappear  until  she  was  satisfied  that 
the  confiding  boarder  who  had  made  the  loan  had  abandoned 
all  hope  of  ever  getting  his  money  back,  when  she  would  re- 
appear in  a  new  street,  occasionally  under  a  new  name,  and  the 
routine  of  " borrowing"  from  unsuspecting  boarders  and 
"  giving  up "  the  house  would  again  be  gone  through  with. 
She  has  been  known  to  obtain  an  advance  of  one  thousand 
dollars  from  a  boarder,  and  not  one  of  her  numerous  loans 
was  ever  repaid.  Whenever  she  vacated  a  house  she  was  gen- 
erally more  or  less  in  debt  to  all  her  patrons,  whom  she 
treated  so  kindly  that  they  were  often  only  too  glad  to  relieve 
her  "  temporary  embarrassment "  by  paying  for  board  in  ad- 
vance, and  were  sincerely  sorry  when  financial  disaster  at 
length  overwhelmed  her.  As  a  rule,  boarders  generally  vic- 
timize their  landladies,  but  in  this  instance  the  rule  was  re- 
versed. 

Another  woman,  who  lived  in  elegant  style  in  a  fashionable 
part  of  the  city,  acquired  a  snug  fortune  by  using  her  social  in- 
fluence in  furthering  questionable  money-making  schemes 
among  capitalists.  She  had  a  large  circle  of  acquaintance 
among  moneyed  men,  possessed  keen  perception,  an  exceed- 
ingly glib  tongue,  and  instinctive  knowledge  of  human  nature. 
These  qualities  she  constantly  turned  to  her  own  pecuniary 
account.  She  and  her  husband  kept  house  in  a  sumptuously 
furnished  brown-stone  front  up-town,  where  they  received 
evening  calls  from  numerous  bankers,  brokers,  and  others, 
whom  the  accomplished  wife  elegantly  and  pleasantly  enter- 
tained. When  necessary  she  talked,  coaxed,  or  argued  them 
into  investing  in  or  lending  their  influence  to  any  money-mak- 
ing scheme  she  had  a  pecuniary  interest  in.  She  did  a  paying 
business  for  a  long  time.  She  never  undertook  any  but  large 
and  plausible  schemes,  and  generally  succeeded  in  carrying 


INGENIOUS  ADVENTURESSES. 

them  through.  Not  long  ago  she  became  interested  in  a  mine, 
and  got  most  of  the  stock  subscribed  for  through  her  own  un- 
aided exertions,  for  winch  she  received  in  advance  a  huge  roll 
of  greenbacks  as  her  reward.  It  was  characteristic  of  her 
never  to  depend  upon  commissions  for  her  services.  She  de- 
manded so  much  money  down,  and  nothing  else  would  answer, 
and  she  generally  got  it.  In  this  way  she  supported  her  family 
in  great  luxury  and  clothed  herself  and  her  daughters  in  fash- 
ionable style.  She  is  still  widely  known  by  Wall  Street  and 
Broad  Street  magnates. 

Now  and  then  in  New  York  one  comes  across  women  who, 
though  they  cannot  be  properly  styled  adventuresses,  yet  have 
adopted  petty  and  ingenious  ways  of  adding  to  a  slender  in- 
come. There  is,  for  instance,  a  young  lady  in  society  who  is 
locally  famous  for  obtaining  all  her  gloves  and  jewelry  as 
"gifts"  from  her  gentlemen  escorts  to  parties  and  theatres, — 
gifts  which  she  does  not  hesitate  to  hint  for  if  they  are  not 
speedily  volunteered.  There  is  another  woman  who  resides  in 
a  handsomely  furnished  suite  of  rooms  who  invariably  "  takes 
her  meals  out,"  always  managing  so  that  at  least  two  meals 
shall  be  taken  at  the  "invitation"  of  some  gentleman  friend, 
thus  saving  the  fair  dame  at  least  ten  dollars  a  week.  Another 
woman  contrives  to  fasten  herself  on  some  rich  and  fashionable 
lady  as  a  "  companion,"  living  at  the  expense  of  her  friend  to 
whom  she  attaches  herself  as  closely  and  with  as  much  persist- 
ence as  a  barnacle  to  a  ship.  One  fair  creature  has  made  a 
practice  for  years  to  become  "engaged"  to  some  rich  young 
man,  receiving  from  him  meantime  as  many  presents  as  he  can 
be  tempted  to  bestow.  Finally  she  quarrels  with  her  betrothed, 
breaks  the  engagement,  and  retains  the  presents. 

A  really  clever  woman,  who,  according  to  her  own  state- 
ment, "  engineers  beggars,"  hires  a  number  of  poor,  homeless 
children  and  a  number  of  old  and  decrepit  men  and  women, 
selecting  with  an  artist's  eye  all  the  most  wretched  specimens 
of  humanit}r  she  can  procure,  —  the  halt,  the  maimed,  the  lame, 
and  the  blind ;  the  dirty,  the  ragged,  the  sick,  and  the  sore. 
These  wretches  are  stationed  singly  or  in  small  squads  around 


724  A  BRIGADE   OF  BEGGARS. 

the  hotels,  churches,  or  places  of  amusement.  When  there  is  a 
ball  at  the  Academy  of  Musie,  or  a  fashionable  opera,  or  select 
gathering  of  any  kind,  she  stations  her  wretched  squad  at  con- 
venient points,  and,  hiding  herself  in  some  convenient  place, 
grins  with  unfeigned  satisfaction  as  her  hatless  and  shoeless 
brigade  whiningly  receives  alms.  Her  percentage  of  the 
receipts  generally  consists  of  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the 
money  her  "beggars"  have  extracted  from  the  charitable. 
Of  late  years  this  woman's  operations  have  been  materially 
curtailed  by  the  police. 

Dancing  attendance  upon  dowagers  who  are  rich  seems  to 
be  growing  in  favor  among  the  would-be  fashionable  but  impe- 
cunious youths  of  the  city.  Among  the  most  curious  cases  of 
gaining  a  livelihood  without  working  for  it  is  that  of  a  certain 
young  man  who,  young,  rather  handsome,  and  of  good  family, 
devotes  himself  almost  exclusively  to  playing  the  cavalier  to 
old  and  very  rich  widows. 

There  are  men  about  town  who  have  the  entree  to  fashiona- 
ble society  who  are  really  cardsharpers  and  gamblers,  who  live 
upon  the  money  they  make  by  cheating  at  cards  at  their  clubs 
or  elsewhere.  They  are  "  society  men,"  too,  who  live  in  lux- 
ury, dress  well,  and  spend  money  lavishly,  who  depend  upon 
their  skill  in  manipulating  cards  for  means  to  keep  up  appear- 
ances and  meet  their  liberal  expenditures.  They  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  cheat;  and,  if  detected,  the  matter  is  hushed  up  "for 
their  family's  sake;"  but  in  the  majority  of  instances  their 
social  position  saves  them  even  from  suspicion,  and  defrauded 
victims  pay  their  losses  without  suspecting  the  author  of  their 
misfortunes. 

Levying  literary  blackmail  is  often  practiced  upon  a  certain 
class  of  wealthy  and  vain  people.  Proof-sheets  of  glowing  biog- 
raphies of  well-known  men  and  women  are  sent  to  the  selected 
victim.  A  polite  and  carefully  written  personal  note  accompa- 
nies the  proof-sheets,  informing  the  party  that  the  proofs  are 
specimens  of  the  contents  of  a  forthcoming  book  of  great  na- 
tional importance  which  the  publishers  are  preparing  to  issue,  in 
which  they  design  to  insert  the  biography  of  all  the  "  distin- 


BOGUS   DETECTIVES   WHO   SNEAK,  SPY,  AND   LIE.  725 

guished  persons  of  the  times."  A  request  is  then  made  for  a 
biographical  sketch  of  the  person  addressed,  to  be  written  in  a 
similar  style  and  sent  to  the  publishers.  Sometimes  the  proof- 
sheets  of  what  purports  to  be  one's  own  biography  are  sent, 
with  a  request  to  correct  the  "  unavoidable  mistakes."  Not  a 
word  is  said  about  money  matters.  The  "distinguished"  party 
generally  feels  nattered,  falls  into  the  trap,  and  either  writes 
his  biography  as  desired,  or  corrects  and  returns  the  proof.  In 
due  time  a  revised  proof  of  the  article  is  sent  to  the  subject, 
and  with  it  a  bill  for  $200,  $300,  or  $500,  as  the  case  may  be. 
The  victim's  eyes  are  now  opened,  but  it  is  too  late.  He  has 
committed  himself  by  complying  with  the  original  request,  or 
by  correcting  and  returning  the  proof-sheets,  and  rather  than 
publicly  reveal  his  own  weakness  and  folly  he  pays  the  bill 
or  compromises  the  affair  with  the  swindler.  Thus  the  rascal 
contrives  to  make  a  good  living,  though  the  book  itself  has 
never  been  published  and  never  will  be,  for  the  reason  that  all 
the  "  illustrious  men"  have  not  yet  contributed  their  biographies. 
Matrimonial  advertising  is  another  successful  enterprise 
that  thrives  on  the  credulity  of  others.  "Rich  widows"  who 
advertise  for  husbands,  and  "wealthy  gentlemen"  who  are 
pining  for  wives,  are  daily  advertisers  in  the  metropolitan 
newspapers.  Some  of  these  matrimonial  advertisements  are 
inserted  as  a  joke,  a  very  few  of  them  are  undoubtedly  sincere, 
but  the  greater  number  are  inserted  for  improper  purposes. 
At  one  time  there  was  a  " matrimonial  bureau"  that  did  a 
thriving  business,  and  its  victims  were  numbered  by  hundreds. 
On  the  other  hand,  divorce  detectives,  male  and  female,  are 
numerous ;  and  their  number  and  pecuniary  prosperity  afford 
a  suggestive  commentary  on  the  ills  and  mistakes  of  modern 
married  life.  Many  of  these  bogus  detectives  do  all  they  can 
to  upset  marriages  already  made,  doing  so  in  the  interest  of 
one  or  the  other,  and  sometimes  of  both,  of  the  unhappy  wed- 
ded pair.  Divorce  detectives  of  this  order  will  sneak,  spy,  lie, 
and  swear  to  a  lie,  and  will  not  hesitate  to  put  temptation  in 
the  way  of  those  against  whom  they  are  employed.  They  will 
not  scruple  to  do  anything  to  procure  evidence  for  their  em- 


726  PETTY  SWINDLERS   OF  ALL  KINDS. 

ployers  that  will  be  considered  "  sufficient  grounds  for  divorce." 
There  are  about  thirty  men  and  some  fifty  women  in  New 
York  who  are  thus  almost  constantly  engaged  in  working  up 
divorce  cases,  procuring  or  manufacturing  evidence,  and  so 
forth.  Some  of  them  have  grown  rich.  Not  more  than  five 
or  six  of  them  can  be  relied  upon  as  thoroughly  honest.  On 
several  occasions  some  have  taken  pay  from  both  sides  in  a 
divorce  suit  by  pretending  to  watch  a  husband  in  the  interest 
of  a  wife,  and  to  spy  upon  a  wife  in  the  interest  of  a  husband, 
and  have  thus  lied  to  and  cheated  both.  Professional  divorce 
detectives  are  about  the  meanest  and  most  unscrupulous  of  all 
people  who  live  by  their  wits,  and  they  are  at  the  same  time 
among  the  sharpest. 

There  are  hundreds  of  petty  swindlers  who  get  their  living 
"by  hook  or  by  crook"  in  many  ingenious  and  curious  ways. 
Not  the  least  numerous  and  successful  are  the  bogus  agents  for 
charitable  societies,  and  meek,  long-faced  professional  philan- 
thropists who  are  supported,  with  their  families,  by  the  care- 
lessness and  credulity  of  the  charitable  public.  Then  there  are 
"  shyster  lawyers,"  who  solicit  their  own  clients,  and  roundly 
fleece  them  when  once  they  are  in  their  clutches.  There  are 
numerous  parties  who  compound  elixirs  and  costly  cosmetics 
that  make  all  who  use  them  "beautiful  forever";  men  who 
make  money  by  issuing  bogus  diplomas  for  doctors,  and  char- 
latans who  practice  medicine  under  them;  and  no  end  of 
quacks  who  "cure  all  diseases"  by  a  "magic  touch."  The 
vanity  of  the  newly  rich  or  other  people  is  catered  to  by  enter- 
prising gentlemen  who  prepare  "coats-of-arms"  and  "heraldic 
insignia"  for  "the  butcher,  the  baker,  and  the  candlestick 
maker  "  to  order.  The  list  of  petty  swindlers  might  be  length- 
ened indefinitely.  It  might  properly  include  false  pretenders 
who  hire  "wedding  presents"  in  order  to  make  a  grand  dis- 
play at  a  marriage  feast,  and  those  who  borrow  diamonds  and 
plate  for  fashionable  dinners.  There  are  street  boys  and  men 
who  haunt  entrances  to  ball-rooms,  theatres,  etc.,  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  picking  up  cigar-stumps,  that  are  forthwith  chemi- 
cally treated   and  made    over    into   fragrant  havanas;    and 


! 


HUMAN   BARNACLES   AND    PARASITES.  727 

thrifty  "hangers  on"  at  the  market  stalls,  who  eagerly  pick'  up 
the  scraps  and  bones  and  sell  them  to  poorer  and  less  enter- 
prising wretches  who  live  upon  them.  Thero  are  a  tew 
curiously-disposed  persons  who  have  &  penchant  U>v  "sitting 
up"  with  sick  people,  or  "watching"  insane  patients  or 
drunken  men  for  a  consideration,  which  must  invariably  he 
paid  in  advance.  "  Free-lunchers "  are  a  well-known  and 
numerous  class  who  know  how  to  evade  the  eye  or  to  mollify 
the  wrrath  of  barkeepers  who  seek  to  increase  their  trade  by 
offering  tempting  free  lunches  to  all  who  enter.  There  is  a 
large  and  persistent  army  of  "floaters"  to  be  found  at  all 
hours  of  the  day,  haunting  the  reading  and  writing-rooms  of 
first-class  hotels,  in  wdiich  they  never  spend  a  cent,  but  whose 
seats,  fires,  papers,  stationery,  etc.,  they  use  with  the  utmost 
freedom  and  without  so  much  as  saying  "  Thank  you  "  to  the 
landlord.  As  for  fortune-tellers  and  clairvoyants,  their  num- 
ber is  large  and  is  on  the  increase,  but  their  ways  have  been  so 
often  and  so  thoroughly  ventilated  that  none  but  very  stupid 
persons  can  be  caught  by  their  transparent  stratagems. 


CHAPTEE  XLIL 

SHARPERS,    CONFIDENCE-MEN   AND    BUNCO-STEERERS— WIDE 
OPEN   TRAPS -TRICKS  OF   "SAWDUST"  AND   "GREEN- 
GOODS"    DEALERS. 

The  Bunco-Steerer's  Victims —  Glib  Talkers  and  Shrewd  Thieves  —  Watching 
Incoming  .  Trains  and  Steamers  —  Accomplished  Swindlers  —  Personal 
Appearance  of  a  Confidence  Gang  —  Robbing  the  Same  Man  Twice  — 
Headquarters  of  Bunco  Men  —  Plausible  Stories  —  Different  Forms  of 
Bunco  Games  —  A  Noted  Bunco  Operator  —  Hungry  Joe  and  his  Victims 
—  How  a  Confiding  Englishman  was  Robbed  —  The  Three  Card  Trick  — 
Arrest  of  "Captain  Murphy's  Nephew"  —  A  Game  of  Bluff  —  Swindling 
an  Episcopal  Clergyman  —  Pumping  a  Victim  Dry  —  Working  the  Panel- 
Game  —  A  Green-Goods  Man's  Circular  —  The  Spider's  Instructions  to  the 
Fly  —  Seeking  a  Personal  Interview  —  Victims  from  the  Rural  Districts  — 
The  Supreme  Moment  of  the  Game  —  Sliding  Back  the  Panel  and  Chang- 
ing the  Bags  —  Seeing  the  Victim  off  —  Moral. 

UNFOKTUNATELY  the  temptation  to  take  a  hand  in  a 
seemingly  innocent  game  of  chance  can  scarcely  be  re- 
sisted by  most  people.  Men  of  standing  and  respectability, 
including  authors,  politicians,  divines,  and  even  famous  gen- 
erals of  America  and  Europe,  have  thus  become  easy  prey  for 
sharpers,  and  have  been  roundly  fleeced  by  confidence-men  and 
bunco-steerers.  The  desire  to  beat  the  sharper  at  his  own 
game  often  leads  the  stranger  on  to  his  ruin. 

The  skillful  and  accomplished  operator  hunts  his  dupe 
among  those  of  high  life,  while  a  lower  order  of  these  crimi- 
nals select  the  ignorant,  and  especially  the  gullible  countrymen 
for  their  victims.  It  is  a  singular  fact  that  while  the  rustic  is 
often  a  trifle  suspicious  in  his  dealings  with  thieves,  men  of 
education  and  long  experience  are  easily  taken  in  by  the  glib- 
tongued,  nattily-dressed  young  man  who  shakes  hands  with 
them  so  cordially  on  the  street  corner.  The  leading  confidence- 
men  and  bunco-steerers  are  an  industrious  set.     They  are  usu- 

(728) 


CONFIDENCE   MEN   AND    BUNCO   STEEKERS.  729 

ally  men  of  education,  glib  talkers  with  no  end  of  assurance, 
gifted  with  a  good  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  quick,  fer- 
tile, and  ingenious  in  resource.  The  few  who  arc  proficient  in 
all  these  attainments  find  no  difficulty  in  helping  themselves  to 
other  people's  money. 

This  form  of  roguery  has  been  said  to  be  the  safest  and 
most  amusing  way  for  a  shrewd  thief  to  make  his  living ;  the 
rascals  who  follow  it  take  a  fiendish  delight  in  outwitting  men 
illustrious  in  the  higher  walks  of  life.  A  noted  bunco  operator 
once  said  in  my  hearing:  "Talk  about  trout-fishing!  Just 
think  of  the  fun  of  hooking  a  man  that's  worth  anywhere  from 
$5<  N I  to  $5,<  »00  !  Of  course,  it  takes  a  man  of  education  and  re- 
finement to  do  this  sort  of  business,  but  there  are  several  col- 
lege graduates  among  our  fellows  who  can  do  it.''  There  cer- 
tainly must  be  a  strange  fascination  about  this  form  of  swind- 
ling, for  the  ranks  of  these  sharpers  have  boasted  of  an  ex-gov- 
ernor, and  of  others  who  once  filled  high  and  responsible  posi- 
tions and  figured  in  good  society.  Some  of  these  sharpers  ply 
their  vocation  in  the  vicinity  of  hotels  and  railroad  depots,  and 
others  along  the  river  front,  particular  attention  being  paid  to 
incoming  steamers  from  foreign  ports. 

Of  all  the  different  types  of  rogues  a  successful  confidence 
or  bunco  man  is  the  most  accomplished.  It  is  a  criminal  calling 
that  an  unpolished  man  cannot  successfully  follow.  Its  success 
entirely  depends  upon  the  skill  with  which  it  is  played,  and  in 
the  selection  of  a  victim  and  in  the  subsequent  ''skinning"  pro- 
cess all  the  resources  of  the  cunning  operator  are  brought  into 
play. 

Few  of  the  gangs  of  these  men  exceed  four  in  number,  and 
the  majority  of  them  do  not  exceed  three.  The  operators  are 
very  careful  in  their  personal  appearance.  They  never  dress  in 
conspicuous  style,  but  aim  to  appear  eminently  respectable 
rather  than  assume  the  airs  and  apparel  of  a  man  of  fashion. 
Professional  confidence-men  have  more  than  once  declared  that 
a  tinge  of  gray  in  their  side  whiskers  would  be  a  great  advan- 
tage to  them,  and  a  bald  head  a  fortune. 

Their  methods  of  obtaining  a  victim's  money  vary  as  the 


730  ROBBING  THE  SAME  MAN  TWICE. 

circumstances  require.  The  man  who  loiters  about  hotel  offices 
and  corridors  awaiting  his  prey  appears  as  the  best-natured  per- 
son in  the  world.  He  invariably  has  a  smile  on  his  face,  and  in 
moving  out  of  the  way  of  the  guests  and  porters  passing  to  and 
fro  politely  bows  at  every  turn.  He  eagerly  scans  the  freshly- 
written  name  in  the  register,  and  when  that  has  been  obtained, 
he  patiently  awaits  the  chance  to  practice  his  threadbare  tricks 
upon  the  new  arrival.  Those  who  operate  on  the  river  fronts 
or  at  railroad  depots  are  generally  in  search  of  a  man  to  take 
charge  of  their  stock  farm,  etc. 

Their  numerous  schemes  have  been  exposed  so  often  that  it 
seems  strange  that  these  men  should  be  able  to  eke  out  a  liveli- 
hood. But  it  must  be  admitted  that  they  do,  and  a  good  one, 
too.  They  have  boasted  that  a  fool  is  born  every  minute,  and 
that  they  are  able  to  find  more  subjects  than  they  can  take  care 
of.  A  veteran  confidence  man  who  died  recently  in  an  Eastern 
prison  was  credited  with  having  made  over  a  million  dollars 
during  his  long  career  of  swindling.  His  wonderful  cheek  and 
coolness  once  enabled  him  to  succeed  in  robbing  the  same  man 
twice.  Early  in  his  criminal  life  the  confidence-man  realized 
thirty  thousand  dollars  upon  some  worthless  notes  which  he 
induced  a  wealthy  gentleman  to  cash.  Thirty  years  later,  the 
sharper  returned  in  the  role  of  a  penitent,  and  promised  to  make 
restitution  to  his  old  victim  for  his  past  misdeeds.  So  well  did 
he  manage  to  gain  the  confidence  of  his  former  victim,  that  in 
the  course  of  a  few  days  he  borrowed  from  him  three  thousand 
dollars  on  another  set  of  worthless  notes. 

The  headquarters  of  bunco  men  are  generally  in  side  or 
out-of-the-way  streets.  They  usually  hire  a  furnished  apart- 
ment on  a  lower  floor,  and  in  nearly  all  cases  there  is  no  ques- 
tion about  the  nature  of  the  business  they  intend  to  carry  on 
in  the  place.  The  payment  of  a  week's  rent  in  advance  satis- 
fies the  average  landlord,  and  for  the  first  week,  at  least,  every- 
thing goes  on  all  right.  Having  comfortably  settled  them- 
selves in  a  suitable  apartment,  the  rogues  are  ready  for  busi- 
ness. The  hand-shaker  then  sallies  forth,  and  at  the  first  op- 
portunity grasps  a  stranger  by  the  hand  and  exclaims  : 


PLAUSIBLE   AND   ACCOMPLISHED   SHARPERS.  731 

"  Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Brown  ;  how  are  all  my  friends 
in  Greenville  ? " 

The  stranger,  surprised  at  the  warmth  and  unexpected 
friendliness  of  the  reception,  invariably  responds, 

"  You've  made  a  mistake,  sir.  My  name  is  not  Brown.  I'm 
Mr.  Jones,  of  Oshkosh,  Wisconsin." 

Then  the  rogue  apologizes,  hurries  off,  and  reports  to  his 
confederate,  the  steerer,  who  hurriedly  produces  a  book  from 
his  pocket,  and  hunts  up  Oshkosh,  Wis.  The  book  is  a  bank- 
note reporter,  and  gives  a  list  of  all  the  banks  in  the  country, 
with  a  complete  list  of  their  officers.  From  the  list  the  bunco 
man  instantly  learns  that  Mr.  Thomas  is  the  president  of  the 
Oshkosh  bank,  and  that  Messrs.  Black  and  White  are  among 
its  directors.  Then  he  hastily  follows  Mr.  Jones,  accosts  him 
in  the  street,  shakes  hands  with  him,  calls  him  by  name,  and 
saying  he  is  President  Thomas's  nephew,  asks  with  much  solici- 
tude about  the  health  of  the  Blacks,  Whites,  and  other  promi- 
nent people.  The  stranger  is  nattered  by  the  attention  of  the 
bank  president's  agreeable  nephew,  and  he  is  soon  decoyed 
without  the  least  suspicion  into  the  room  where  the  boss  bunco 
man  is  waiting  to  play  his  part.  There  are  desks  and  maps  in 
the  apartment,  and  an  air  of  business  about  the  place  which, 
to  all  appearances,  is  the  office  of  some  commercial  concern. 
The  dupe  is  lured  to  the  bunco  men's  shop  by  the  usual  story 
about  a  valuable  painting  drawn  in  a  lottery,  or  some  other 
equally  plausible  story,  and  he  is  made  to  believe  that  a  few 
dollars  will  secure  an  article  easily  worth  hundreds,  etc.  The 
stranger  usually  bites ;  he  is  anxious  to  get  five  hundred  dol- 
lars for  one  hundred  ;  he  puts  down  his  wad  of  bills,  which  the 
bold  operators  forthwith  capture  by  fair  means  or  foul,  and 
the  victim  walks  out  in  a  brown  study,  not  knowing  exactly 
how  he  was  done  up,  but  quite  sure  that  he  has  been  swindled. 
The  bunco  men  immediately  leave  their  office.  The  victim 
does  not  generally  complain  to  the  police,  because  he  is 
ashamed  to  confess  his  folly  and  fears  that  if  he  makes  any 
complaint  the  newspapers  will  learn  of  the  robbery,  and  all  his 
friends  in  Oshkosh  will  hear  of  his  mortifying  experience. 


732  THE   NOTORIOUS   "HUNGRY  JOE." 

Another  form  of  the  bunco  game  was  introduced  into  this 
country  some  years  ago  by  a  noted  sharper  who  successfully 
operated  throughout  the  West.  He  called  the  game  a  lottery, 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  there  is  no  lottery  about  it  at 
all.  The  game  is  so  simple,  and  apparently  honest,  that  even 
the  shrewdest  are  readily  induced  to  take  a  hand,  and  are  as 
readily  fleeced.  There  are  forty-three  spaces  upon  a  lay-out, 
thirteen  of  which  contain  stars  (conditional  prizes) ;  one  space 
is  blank,  and  the  remaining  twenty -nine  represent  prizes  rang- 
ing from  two  to  five  thousand  dollars.  The  game  can  be 
played  with  dice  or  cards.  The  latter  are  numbered  with  a 
series  of  small  numbers  ranging  from  one  to  six,  eight  of  which 
are  drawn  and  counted,  the  total  representing  the  number  of 
the  prize  drawn.  Should  the  victim  draw  a  star  number,  he 
is  allowed  the  privilege  of  drawing  again  by  putting  up  a 
small  amount  of  money.  He  is  generally  allowed  to  win  at  first, 
and  later  on  the  game  owes  him  from  one  to  five  thousand 
dollars.  This  is  when  he  draws  the  "  condition  prize,"  No.  27. 
The  conditions  are  that  he  must  put  up  five  hundred  dollars, 
or  as  much  as  the  dealer  thinks  he  will  stand.  This  is  explained 
to  him  as  necessary  to  save  what  he  has  already  won,  and  en- 
title him  to  another  drawing.  He  draws  again,  and  by  skillful 
counting  on  the  part  of  the  dealer  he  draws  the  "  blank  "  and 
loses  all. 

The  notorious  "  Hungry  Joe,"  is  a  most  persistent  and  im- 
pudent bunco-steerer,  who  has  victimized  more  people  by  the 
bunco  game  than  any  other  five  men  in  the  profession.  One 
of  his  exploits  was  the  robbing  of  Mr.  Joseph  Ramsden,  an 
elderly  English  tourist,  out  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
in  the  following  manner  : 

Among  the  passengers  on  board  the  steamship  Gallia,  from 
Liverpool,  was  an  English  gentleman  past  the  prime  of  life,  of 
fine  appearance,  but  somewhat  in  ill-health.  He  stopped  at  a 
first-class  hotel  up-town.  One  afternoon  he  strolled  down- 
town on  Broadway,  and  was  sauntering  leisurely  along  when 
he  was  accosted  by  a  well-dressed  stranger  who  warmly 
grasped  him  by  the  hand  and  said, — 


ONE   OF   "HUNGRY   JOE'S ''   EXPLOITS.  733 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Ramsden  '." 

The  latter  expressed  his  inability  to  recognize  the  stranger, 
but  the  affable  young  man  soon  put  the  old  gentleman  at  « 
by  adding: 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  me ;  I  forgot.  But  I  know  you  from 
hearsay.  My  name  is  Post — Henry  F.  Post.  You  came  over 
in  my  uncle's  steamer  yesterday.  Captain  Murphy,  of  the 
Gallia,  is  my  uncle,  and  since  his  return  has  been  stopping  at 
my  father's  residence.  He  has  spoken  of  you  to  us.  Indeed, 
he  has  said  so  much  about  you  and  of  your  shattered  health 
that  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  had  known  you  a  long  time.  I 
could  not  help  recognizing  you  in  a  thousand  from  my  uncle's 
perfect  description  of  you.'' 

Mr.  Ramsden  had  had  a  very  pleasant  voyage  on  the 
Gallia,  during  which  Captain  Murphy  and  he  had  become 
very  friendly,  and  thus  he  was  not  surprised  that  the  gallant 
skipper  should  speak  of  him.  "Mr.  Post''  walked  arm-in-arm 
with  his  uncle's  English  friend,  chatting  pleasantly  and  point- 
ing out  prominent  business  houses,  until  they  reached  Grand 
street. 

"  I  am  in  business  in  Baltimore  —  in  ladies'  underwear  and 
white  goods,"  said  Mr.  Post,  "  and  have  been  home  laying  in  a 
stock  of  goods.  I  should  much  like  to  remain  a  day  or  two 
longer  and  show  you  around,  but  I  am  sorry  that  I  must 
return  to  Baltimore  this  evening.  In  fact,  I  am  on  my  way 
now  to  get  my  ticket,  and  my  valise  is  already  in  the  ticket- 
office." 

It  needed  but  a  few  words  to  induce  the  elderly  gentleman 
to  accompany  Post  to  "the  ticket  office"  in  Grand  Street,  and 
the  two  soon  entered  a  room  on  that  street.  There  the  young 
man  bought  a  railroad  ticket  of  a  man  behind  the  counter. 

"And  now  my  valise,"  said  Post  to  the  ticket-seller. 

Throwing  the  bag  on  the  counter,  the  young  man  opened  it, 
saying  "Here  are  some  muslins  that  can't  be  duplicated  in  Eng- 
land," and  exhibited  to  the  old  gentleman  some  samples  of 
that  fabric.  Near  the  bottom  of  the  bag  he  accidentally  came 
upon  a  pack  of  playing-cards,  seizing  which  he  exclaimed : 


734  AN  IMPUDENT  RASCAL. 

"Ah,  this  reminds  me.  Don't  you  know  that  last  night 
some  fellows  got  me  into  a  place  on  the  Bowery  and  skinned 
me  out  of  four  hundred  dollars  by  a  card-trick  in  which  they 
used  only  three  cards?  But  I've  got  on  to  the  game  and 
know  just  how  it  is  done.     They  can't  do  me  any  more." 

At  that  moment  a  man,  showily  dressed,  emerged  from  a 
back  room  and  said :  "  I'll  bet  you  ten  dollars  you  can't  do  it." 

"  All  right,  put  up  your  money,"  responded  Joe. 

The  cards  were  shuffled  by  the  deft  hands  of  the  stranger, 
and  Joe  was  told  to  pick  up  the  ace.  He  picked  up  a  jack  and 
lost.  He  lost  a  second  time,  and  offered  to  repeat  it,  but  the 
stranger  said,  "  I  don't  believe  you've  got  any  more  money." 

"  Well,  but  my  friend  here  (pointing  to  Mr.  Kamsden)  has." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  has,"  sneeringly  retorted  the  stranger. 

"  Oh,  yes  I  have,"  interrupted  the  venerable  Englishman, 
at  the  same  time  pulling  a  roll  of  ten  crisp  five-pound  notes 
from  his  inside  vest  pocket  and  holding  them  to  the  gaze  of  the 
others. 

The  temptation  was  too  great  for  Hungry  Joe,  who  so  far 
forgot  himself  and  his  uncle's  friendship  for  the  English  mer- 
chant that  he  hastily  grabbed  the  roll  from  Kamsden' s  hand. 
The  latter  tightened  his  grasp  on  the  notes,  but  Joe  violently 
thrust  the  old  man  backwards,  and,  getting  possession  of  the 
money,  ran  out  of  the  place,  followed  by  his  confederates. 

Mr.  Eamsden  notified  the  Detective  Bureau  that  evening, 
giving  an  accurate  description  of  "  Captain  Murphy's  nephew," 
which  resulted  in  Hungry  Joe's  arrest.  Joe  was  sitting  in  his 
shirt-sleeves  in  the  basement  of  the  house,  quietly  smoking  a 
cigar,  and  resting  his  slippered  feet  on  a  chair.  He  tried  his 
old  game  of  bluff,  as  is  his  custom,  but,  finding  it  useless,  donned 
his  coat  and  boots  and  accompanied  me  to  headquarters. 

Mr.  Ramsden  was  at  once  summoned,  and  was  confronted 
in  my  room  by  Hungry  Joe  and  eight  other  men  and  asked  to 
select  the  swindler. 

"  There  is  the  man,"  he  quickly  said,  pointing  to  Hungry 
Joe. 

"  I  never  saw  you  before,  sir,"  coolly  replied  Joe. 


HOW    CLERGYMEN    ARE    FLEECED. 


735 


"You  scoundrel,"  excitedly  exclaimed  Mr.  Ramsden,  "  you 
are  the  fellow  that  robbed  me  of  my  money." 

The  evidence  against  Joe  was  conclusive,  and  in  court  he 
pleaded  guilty  and  was  sentenced  to  four  years  in  State  prison. 


III'        Tkn*L  r"~':x  \ 


CHIEF   INSPECTOR   BYRNES  S  PRIVATE   ROOM   AT   POLICE   HEADQUARTERS. 

Another  equally  notorious  character  succeeded  in  swindling 
an  Episcopal  clergyman  by  handing  him  a  forged  letter  of  in- 
troduction from  another  minister  in  Cleveland,  whose  name  he 
had  discovered  in  a  church  almanac.  The  letter  read :  "  My 
brother  is  buying  books  for  me.  Please  honor  his  draft  for 
$100,  and  thereby  do  me  a  great  favor."  The  preacher  thought 
it  was  all  right,  and  said  that  he  was  glad  to  meet  the  Eev.  Mr. 
Watt's  brother,  and  gave  the  desired  check  only  to  discover  a 
little  later  on  that  he  had  been  neatly  swindled. 


736  "  GREEN-GOODS 

JSTot  long  ago  fraudulent  "bankers"  flooded  the  country 
with  circulars  showing  what  great  profits  could  be  made  by 
speculating  in  stocks.  If  the  bait  was  taken,  it  was  quite  pos- 
sible that  the  victim  would  be  notified  that  he  had  made  a 
handsome  profit  on  his  first  investment,  but  the  money  was  not 
sent  to  him  with  the  announcement.  It  was  retained  "  subject 
to  order,"  and  an  inducement  of  still  greater  profit  was  held 
out  if  the  money  was  reinvested.  This  was  generally  the  case, 
and  not  infrequently  the  victim  added  new  money  to  the  origi- 
nal investment.  This  went  on  until  it  was  certain  that  no 
more  could  be  obtained  from  him,  and  then  he  received  a 
"  statement "  showing  that  his  last  investment  proved  very  un- 
fortunate, and  that  not  only  had  all  his  money  been  lost,  but 
he  was  in  debt  to  the  firm.  He  was  generally  brought  pretty 
heavily  in  debt,  too ;  not  that  he  was  expected  to  pay,  but  the 
victim  was  very  likely  to  repudiate  the  whole  transaction,  drop 
all  further  correspondence,  and  consider  himself  lucky  if  he 
was  not  prosecuted  for  his  obligations. 

A  recently  popular  form  of  swindle  was  known  as  the 
"panel-game,"  and  was  successfully  worked  by  swindlers 
known  as  "  sawdust  men  "  or  "  green-goods  "  dealers.  Their 
first  move  was  to  secure  a  list  of  the  names  of  people  who  were 
regular  subscribers  to  lotteries  and  various  gift  concerns.  Peo- 
ple who  go  into  those  things  will  be  pretty  sure  to  bite  at  other 
well-baited  hooks.  When  the  list  had  been  duly  studied,  agents 
were  sent  all  over  the  country  to  look  up  the  history  of  the 
most  promising  candidates.  This  done,  a  circular  was  mailed 
to  each  man,  which  read  as  follows :  — 

New  York  City, ,  189-. 

Mr.  : 

Dear  Sir:  — 
I  will  confide  to  you,  through  this  circular,  a  secret  by  which  you  can 
make  a  speedy  Fortune.  I  have  on  hand  a  large  amount  of  counterfeit  notes 
of  the  following  denominations:  One,  Two,  Five,  Ten,  and  Twenty.  I  guar- 
antee every  note  to  be  perfect,  as  every  note  is  examined  by  myself  carefully 
as  soon  as  finished,  and  if  not  strictly  perfect,  is  immediately  destroyed.  Of 
course  it  would  be  foolishness  for  me  to  send  out  poor  work,  as  it  would  not 
only  get  my  customers  in  trouble,  but  would  break  up  my  business  and  ruin 
me,  so  for  personal  safety  I  am  compelled  to  issue  nothing  that  will  not  com- 


ENTICING   BAIT   ON   A   SHARP    BOOK.  737 

pare  with  the  genuine.  I  furnish  you  with  the  goods  in  any  quantity,  at  the 
following  low  prices,  which  will  be  found  as  reasonable  as  the  nature  of  the 
business  will  allow; 

For  $1,200  in  my  goods  assorted,  I  charge,  $100 

"  2,600           "                  "               "  200 

"  5,000            "                    "                 "  350 

"  10,000            "                   "                 "  500 

You  can  see  from  the  above  price  list  the  advantage  of  buying  largely; 
you  cannot  make  money  as  rapidly  in  any  other  business,  and  there  is  not  the 
slightest  danger  in  using  my  goods,  one  of  the  best  proofs  being  that  not  a 
single  person  doing  business  with  me  has  ever  been  in  any  trouble,  on  the 
contrary,  all  making  money  rapidly.  I  have  no  connection  with  any  other 
firm  in  this  country,  and  every  dollar  of  my  money  is  manufactured  under 
my  own  personal  supervision.  So  in  dealing  with  me,  you  get  the  goods 
from  first  hands. 

Do  not  call  at  the  address  given  here,  as  I  do  not  receive  visitors  at  my 
office,  merely  use  it  to  get  my  letters.  Write  to  me  two  days  before  you  start 
to  come  on  here,  to  New  York,  saying  exactly  when  you  will  be  here,  and  tell 
me  what  Hotel  you  will  stop  at,  so  I  will  know  where  to  meet  you;  I  will  call 
on  you  at  your  own  Room,  where  we  can  transact  our  business  without  any 
one  knowing  anything  about  it.  As  soon  as  you  arrive  in  the  city,  go  straight 
to  this  Hotel  and  register  your  name,  go  up  to  your  room  and  stay  in  your 
room,  until  I  call  on  you.  Have  nothing  to  say  to  any  person  who  cannot 
showT  you  your  last  letter  to  me,  and  when  you  see  your  own  handwriting, 
then  you  will  knowT  you  are  dealing  with  the  right  party;  should  you  con- 
clude to  send  for  samples  before  coming  on  to  New  York,  I  will  send  you  a 
sample,  packed  in  book  form,  containing  $300,  three  hundred  dollars  in  as- 
sorted sizes,  on  receipt  of  thirty  dollars.  Should  you  send  for  goods  follow 
these  instructions  carefully,  send  all  money  in  a  thick  envelope  by  mail,  well 
sealed,  with  my  name  and  address,  plainly  written;  do  not  send  by  registered 
letter  or  by  express,  as  such  letters  cause  suspicion,  and  I  will  not  receive  or 
notice  them. 

Enclosed  you  will  find  my  name  and  address  with  a  card  of  a  good  hotel  as 
convenient  as  any  in  Newr  York.  Should  you  order  Goods,  send  your  Express 
address.  Yours  Confidentially. 

The  green-goods  dealer  is  a  swindler  who  preys  upon  the 
cupidity  and  dishonesty  of  mankind.  An  honest  man  receiving 
such  circulars  or  letters  destroys  them  or  sends  them  to  the 
police  ;  the  dishonest  man  writes  cautiously  to  the  address  given 
and  receives  a  cautious  reply,  usually  containing  nothing  but 
hints  that  are  not  explicit  enough  to  sustain  a  charge  of  fraud. 
A  personal  interview  with  his  correspondent  is  what  the  swin- 
dler seeks. 


738  THE    SPIDER   AND   THE   FLY. 

These  sharpers  never  have  any  counterfeit  money  about 
them  under  any  circumstances;  if  a  case  appears  promising, 
they  sometimes  risk  a  few  dollars  as  "samples"  of  their  green- 
goods,  but  these  samples  are  invariably  genuine  notes  of  the 
United  States  Treasury  which  have  been  obtained  quite  new  at 
a  bank.  The  old  saw  about  "throwing  a  sprat  to  catch  a 
whale  "  is  not  unknown  to  this  gentry. 

If  the  victim  conducts  his  business  through  the  mails  or 
through  express  companies  he  is  fleeced  very  easily.  He  sends 
his  genuine  money  and  receives  in  return  either  nothing  at  all 
or  else  an  envelope  or  a  box  whose  contents  are  sawdust  or 
other  valueless  things.  If  he  prefers  to  come  to  the  city  to  pay 
his  money  and  obtain  the  green-goods  in  person,  he  is  instructed 
to  send  word  two  days  before  his  expected  arrival  in  this  city, 
to  go  to  a  hotel  the  name  of  which  is  given,  and  to  remain  in 
strict  seclusion  in  his  room  until  the  manufacturer  calls  upon 
him.  After  his  arrival  at  the  designated  hotel  an  "agent" 
sends  up  his  card  and  devotes  an  hour  to  sounding  the  man,  to 
see  if  he  is  fair  game  or  an  emissary  from  the  police  in  dis- 
guise. If  all  promises  well,  the  man  leaves,  appointing  the 
next  day  as  the  time  for  the  bargain.  On  the  following  day 
the  agent  drops  into  the  hotel  and  escorts  the  stranger  to  the 
"factory." 

In  a  roughly-furnished  office,  before  a  high  desk  at  the  wall, 
sits  the  principal  operator,  busily  counting  out  a  huge  pile  of 
crisp  bills.  They  are  genuine  bills  fresh  from  the  Government 
Treasury,  and  of  all  denominations.  The  countryman  is  intro- 
duced, and  the  process  by  which  the  money  can  best  be  disposed 
of  is  explained,  and  general  directions  are  given  as  to  the  best 
means  to  avoid  suspicion.  Then  the  genuine  bills  are  exhibited. 
The  operator  always  protests  that  they  are  poor  counterfeits 
and  would  never  deceive  him,  but  on  the  whole  he  thinks  they 
will  do.  The  amount  desired  is  carefully  counted  out  and 
handed  to  the  stranger  to  recount.  The  bills  are  then  nicely 
done  up  in  packages,  each  denomination  by  itself,  and  the  whole 
carelessly  tossed  into  a  small  leather  gripsack.  This  done,  the 
bag  is  laid  on  the  top  of  the  desk,  while  the  "  manufacturer  " 


a  fool's  eyes  opened.  739 

holds  the  attention  of  the  stranger  and  lifts  the  lid  <>f  the  desk 
in  front  of,  and  so  as  to  completely  hide,  the  bag.  Half  a  dozen 
genuine  bonds  are  shown  as  specimens  of  good  counterfeiting, 
and  the  suggestion  is  made  that  after  the  money  just  purchased 
has  been  used,  the  customer  may  take  a  fancy  to  handle  some 
bonds  also.  While  the  two  men  are  busy  looking  at  the  bonds, 
a  confederate  in  the  next  room  opens  a  noiseless  slide  or  panel 
in  the  wall,  and  swiftly  changes  the  satchel  for  one  precisely 
like  it,  but  with  the  important  difference  that  the  contents  are 
nothing  but  old  newspapers  instead  of  thousands  of  dollars  in 
genuine  money  fresh  from  the  government  printing  presses. 

The  victim  is  escorted  to  the  railway  station  under  promise 
to  go  straight  home  and  not  to  open  the  satchel  on  any  account 
until  he  gets  there,  lest  the  detectives  may  see  what  is  in  his 
possession.  When  he  reaches  home  and  retires  to  his  most 
secret  room  or  shed  or  barn,  he  eagerly  opens  the  satchel  and 
discovers,  —  what  ? 

Dashes  and  exclamation-points  will  best  indicate  his  remarks. 
He  is  pretty  sure  to  preserve  silence,  as  he  does  not  wish  his 
neighbors  to  know  that  he  has  designed  to  pass  counterfeit 
money  upon  them.  He  dare  not  complain  to  the  police,  for  he 
would  criminate  himself  by  so  doing.  If  he  does  complain,  and 
seeks  to  prosecute  those  who  have  defrauded  him,  he  gets  little 
satisfaction.  He  cannot  prove  the  substitution  of  the  satchel, 
for  the  very  obvious  reason  that  he  did  not  see  it ;  and  altogether 
his  case  is  very  weak. 

Since  the  panel-trick  became  known,  the  sawdust  men  have 
invented  other  devices.  They  recently  issued  a  long  circular, 
which  contains  a  clipping  supposed  to  be  cut  from  a  New  York 
newspaper,  announcing  that  a  full  set  of  dies  and  plates  had 
been  stolen  from  the  Sub-Treasury.  In  it  is  claimed  that  the 
dealer  has  obtained  the  stolen  plates,  from  which  the  green- 
backs he  offers  for  sale  are  struck  off.  This  interesting  circular 
ends  with  the  following  statement :  "  The  newspaper  quotation 
will  show  you  that  our  officials  in  high  standing  have  used  my 
bills  for  their  own  purpose  and  benefit,  and  why  not  every  one 
in  need  ?     Address,  in  confidence,"  etc. 


'40 


HONESTY  IS   THE  BEST  POLICY. 


The  purpose  of  the  letter  is  to  lead  the  one  addressed  to 
believe  that  the  money  offered  is  really  genuine,  being  printed 
from  the  plates  claimed  to  have  been  stolen  from  the  Treasury. 
Then  the  same  old  scheme  of  inducing  a  man  to  go  to  a  certain 
hotel  from  whence  he  is  duly  conducted  to  the  "  office  "  is  suc- 
cessfully worked. 

The  "  green-goods "  business  has  grown  and  prospered. 
The  operators  work  carefully,  their  only  fear  being  lest  some 
detective  be  entrapped.  The  police  have  tried  over  and  over 
again  to  get  at  the  swindlers,  and  although  they  are  known, 
and  occasionally  some  of  them  are  caught,  it  is  not  easy  to 
obtain  direct  proof  against  them.  The  victims  refuse  to 
testify,  for  the  very  fact  of  having  had  dealings  with  these 
swindlers  closes  their  mouths. 

Moral  :   Honesty  is  the  best  policy. 


THE  END. 


^^P- 


■'. 


